I journey down country roads, beholding field after field sprinkled in sunshine petals. Cornstalks stand to attention in perfect rows. We're still in the last days of summer but there's this waiting - waiting for a new season, a new breath. Autumn is crouched around the corner; I can feel it.
I wash the plates from dinner while that tall one dries and I listen to his plans for the future and they don't line up with what I want. I'm proud of him but my heart worries. Lights go out, beds turn down, and in the black I'm left with his suffocating words.
No one told me when I became a mother the hardest part would be in the letting go.
The dawn greets us. We open books, devour their contents, and I look at these faces knowing my time with them will all to soon come to an end. So we laugh and pile on the couch and read about an ordinary woman who really was an extraordinary women. She went from one Jewish mother to the next pleading for their children. Her heroic efforts saved 2,500 souls from the mass slaughter of the Holocaust. But she could not have saved even one if it had not been for the courageous mothers who let their children go.
I sit with this thought all day. For their children to live, they had to let go.
Rocking Michaela into a slumber I weep as I gaze upon the Maple under which Miriam sleeps. I should be rocking them both. And I'm overcome with the reeling of what those mothers felt. How would I feel if someone came for the babe in my arms? The storm comes whipping against the green foliage. Soon the whole tree will be ablaze standing in it's full glory. Then one by one her limbs release each leaf and they'll fly away.
Change is inevitable. In time everyone leaves - dies.
These children - they're a gift - but they have never been mine. I know this. They were only entrusted to me for a time. My job has never been to mold them into what I want or think they should be, but to help them find the path God has for them and then - let go.
Beneath the star-studded sky, I pray...for the courage and strength to let go.
Until then...
Jessie
I wash the plates from dinner while that tall one dries and I listen to his plans for the future and they don't line up with what I want. I'm proud of him but my heart worries. Lights go out, beds turn down, and in the black I'm left with his suffocating words.
No one told me when I became a mother the hardest part would be in the letting go.
The dawn greets us. We open books, devour their contents, and I look at these faces knowing my time with them will all to soon come to an end. So we laugh and pile on the couch and read about an ordinary woman who really was an extraordinary women. She went from one Jewish mother to the next pleading for their children. Her heroic efforts saved 2,500 souls from the mass slaughter of the Holocaust. But she could not have saved even one if it had not been for the courageous mothers who let their children go.
I sit with this thought all day. For their children to live, they had to let go.
Rocking Michaela into a slumber I weep as I gaze upon the Maple under which Miriam sleeps. I should be rocking them both. And I'm overcome with the reeling of what those mothers felt. How would I feel if someone came for the babe in my arms? The storm comes whipping against the green foliage. Soon the whole tree will be ablaze standing in it's full glory. Then one by one her limbs release each leaf and they'll fly away.
Change is inevitable. In time everyone leaves - dies.
These children - they're a gift - but they have never been mine. I know this. They were only entrusted to me for a time. My job has never been to mold them into what I want or think they should be, but to help them find the path God has for them and then - let go.
Beneath the star-studded sky, I pray...for the courage and strength to let go.
Until then...
Jessie
It's so beautiful, Jessica! I'm glad you posted it!
ReplyDeleteThank you.
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