The dragonflies were out yesterday afternoon when we returned from the airport. Somehow this seemed symbolic. My boys taking flight all over the globe. We don’t even have a kid in the state. Kyle’s comment at dinner – and his tone (shhh, don’t tell the guys) was noticeably giddy.
“Do you worry?” Friends ask, thinking about international travel, news reports about a less-than-safe country. And we are aware. But we’ve been here and done this, been doing it now for a handful of years. This letting go and trusting.
“Think of prayer as your first resort, not last.” We’re five in the Jeep, counting Sidney, and I compare it to calling Dad in a sticky situation. “You don’t even need cell service to connect with your Heavenly Father.” And then, it’s Jimmy, asking, “How long should we wait in between?” Between the prayer and dialing up Dad, LOL, but he wasn’t joking.
It’s the same answer I recently gave a friend, asking, doesn’t it make me nervous – all those Spanish conversations? Four and a half years of a secret language, and me left to wonder what they’re talking about. The limitations of an earthly parent – but there are no secrets from a Heavenly Dad. He’s got this, and then some.
Colorado or Colombia. (Iowa, too, although the imagined risks seem so much less.) And it doesn’t matter if they’re scaling mountains, or attempting to travel incognito as wealthy Americans, this mom knows enough about risks to fill her days with fretting. (Did I mention Kyle’s Saturday plan has him back up on the roof?)
Nils scaled a mountain, his first week or so out at The Glen. A seventy-five-foot rock at Day Camp training, and he sends the text. Conquered my fear and made it all the way up! His mother’s child, and the one kid I can count on to tighten the harness and return to sea level.
Minnesota law says kids are required to wear life jackets through the age of ten. Kyle’s reading from some website this week, thinking about our lake home, knowing I’m inclined to This Particular Worry. WATER. Which, I know, is ironic. My mom still likes to tell the stories of my first swimming lessons as a terrified child, and somewhere out there is a former swimming instructor with scars to prove it. To this day I’m not a big fan of water-sports. (Nils either, which is why he worked the register at the Aquatic Center and left the life-guarding to his big brothers.) And yet. Fear of heights and water aside, it’s a toss-up which I enjoy most, lake-view or mountain.
The weekend of the Grad Party it was Luke and Ali, and Jimmy and Sidney, out at the lake. “It could be a sled run in the winter, and a waterslide in the summer!” That steep slope from future lakeside porch to water’s edge, and my husband’s got more wild notions than the young adults. “How about a zipline?” We’d been talking about creating a safe path for Grammy, and I’m wondering if it’s a harness they’ve got in mind for her, too.
Good grief. Just when you think you’ve safety raised a passel of boys to adulthood, along come the grandkids. Which is to say, I’d better be sure I’m believing my own press. About letting go and trusting, that is. Honestly, I know my limitations. I learned a long time ago I’m a limited parent (grandparent, too, if we’re thinking future) and I defer to the Father. He is sovereign. I am not.
Now. About that ladder…