Let them Go

I think it’s correct to say that parents are always learning alongside their children. We have never ‘made it.’ Fathers and mothers can’t be the sort of people who would like to learn something, master it, write the exam and, at the very least, pass. You cannot do your doctorate or become a professor and there is no graduation. If you are a parent, you are in it for life – continuing education at it’s best.

This parenting business is going to have highs and lows and if you fail in one moment in time, it is quite possible to get flying colours in another, even in the same day. It’s humbling and a great equaliser. You have to just go with it, I’ve found, and accept that you will never stop sitting ‘tests’ and getting opportunities to be better than the last time.

My cousin says that riding motorbikes makes so much more sense than riding horses, because a horse has it’s own mind and that means there are so many more possibilities and unexpected outcomes. Having children makes riding motorbikes look like a very sensible past time, yes, but motorbikes don’t hug you back or make you into a family or do such outstanding things that your eyes shine awestruck.

One day, the little baby who made me into a mother will have grandchildren of his own, and when that happens, I will still be learning, from my rocking chair, how to be the mother he needs in that particular season.

I think, if I might say so myself, that I am quite a machine when it comes to mothering the little ones. I can be cutting nails and listening to reading whilst one has a nap on my back, no problem. It’s physically demanding but my soul is well. They like to be close to me when they are small and I am in a sweet spot being their protector, encourager, nurturer, teacher, comforter and cheerleader in all seasons.

The teens are absolutely magnificent, but I have to be honest, I am out of my comfort zone now and I am having to learn fast. It’s less taxing physically and a whole lot more taxing on my soul. I am the opposite of a machine, which is, what, I don’t know – a very stretched, desperate, often on my knees in prayer, flailing human being. Which is not a bad thing. Whether we feel capable or not – God’s help is always available and it’s wise to accept it.

Most of my dramas with the older ones are as a result of them discovering they have their own ideas about where they want to go and when. This can get me into trouble with friends and it’s very possible to hurt and disappoint the people I love most. I feel like I am turning into a public relations officer as our large family bombs into ever increasingly wider circles. It was all so tidy when they were gathered around my skirts, going where I was going. Now, it seems as though the stable, close-knit family front is frayed and fragmented.

The last five years or so I’ve discovered that a family photo won’t necessarily have all of us in it anymore, birthday parties are missing some and an RSVP doesn’t count for the whole family either without a great deal of communicating. The big children are pulling in all directions and if I keep holding onto them the way I am I might just lose my balance at best and my position at worst.

I have a book I want to read, in a pile on my desk, called, “Hold onto your Kids” by Dr Gordon Neufeld and Gabor Mate. I need to get to it because, at this point, all I can think as I try to, unsuccessfully, hold onto them is, ‘let them go.’

But perhaps that’s what we’ve been doing from the moment their warm, wet heads exit the womb. They pull and we sometimes even have to push. The cord gets cut and suddenly other people can hold them too. Six months later they are sitting and reaching, even rolling across the floor to get to where they need to go. First, wobbling steps get ever stronger until they are running so fast you can’t catch them to flick their wise crack ears.

For a time, they are in our company because they’d rather be there than anywhere else. I have, however, seen the look in their eyes when they are with me because I have insisted on them going where I am going, but their hearts are some place else.

And it makes me think of the way the Father parents me. He gave me (and all of humanity) free choice and my very own priceless will. What I write next is not my idea, it’s probably C.S Lewis’s, I forget. The fact that God doesn’t force us to love Him means that when we actually do, our uncontrolled hearts are genuine. Any old master can insist that his puppet loves him in actions, but there is no heart to it, and even if there was, a heart cannot be forced into matters of commitment, loyalty and love. He first loved us and we, freely, love Him back in return.

It’s in my wandering away that I realise how good it is to be close to the Father, doing what He does and going where He goes. He says I am free but all that does it make me bind myself to Him all the more. We get to be His hands and feet, His voice, His song, His dance, His love all over the world. Suddenly, the ‘Body of Christ’ takes on a new spin – it’s made up of people who He has let go of so that they will come running back to him with undivided hearts.

Psalm 34 v 8 says “Taste and see that the Lord is good; blessed is the one who takes refuge in Him.” It is easy to come running back once we’ve tasted His goodness. We might travel across the globe but our hearts are connected to the ones we love.

My big children pull away and negotiate and test the boundaries and appear to be wanting to disengage completely sometimes. Perhaps it’s in this painful (for me), gradual letting go, that they discover their roots and the comforting pull of family ties. Maybe everyone needs to be allowed to leave so that they can return. It’s one thing to be born into a family but another thing entirely to keep coming back.

One day when all of this is a distant memory, I imagine they’ll come rushing back with spouses and children of their own. We will lie on the picnic blanket and watch the stars and we will agree that there’s no place on earth we’d rather be than right here, together.