Day 24: My Child [revised posting]

I Will Carry You

The Amy Grant song posted below (Day 23) reminded me of this black and white photo of my daughter in 1987. She was about 15 months. It’s one of my favorites.

It captures the essence of a child who completely trusts, laying down everything in the arms of one who cares. It’s a picture of feeling that all is well with the world—resting not for weariness, resignation, despair or surrender but in absolute security.

That’s how I would like to feel in the arms of God—possessed by the absolute that all is well with the world, resting not for weariness, resignation, despair or surrender. Not held down or coerced but secured by the simple gravity of being in the arms of someone who is able to carry me with the weight of a small child fitting perfectly in the crook of his neck, on the soft strength of his shoulders.

The parent-child relationship that God has designed feels no burden in the carrying because it is without a Why, or a “Y” —not so much carrying as caring.

Those of us who are human parents are always learning this. We so much want to carry every weight, failure, disappointment, hurt, mistake, sorrow of our children. We cannot. Only God can carry our children’s burdens, just as only He can carry our own.

Watching and walking by my children as they have grown up, I am having to unclutch, unclinch, unclasp my fingers from their lives. When they were small, I could carry them and the weight of their tears. But as the older two have grown into adults, I have had to let them down from my insufficient safety and limited strength, and allow them to walk on their own…prayerfully into the arms of God who can carry them.

A few weeks ago I was praying for my daughter, now 22 and a few weeks short of 23. I was going over the details of her life, talking to God about the decisions and opportunities before her. I went through my usual exercise of providing a litany of requests along with accompanying preferences, followed by my usual “discussion” with Him about pros/cons, and ending with what has become a ritual prying off of my hands on her existence.

Some minutes later in resuming other activities, I heard God say, “She’s not your daughter anymore.” I felt my heart respond, “Yes, she’s yours, Lord.”

I understood immediately. The time had come. While she will always be my daughter, she is no longer my little girl whom I can protect or command to stop, start, or turn. I felt relieved and sad at the same time—relieved that God will be there for everything she needs, all the time, in every capacity, beyond my ability; sad in the acknowledgement that a season had passed, a chapter ended..

I have said from my children’s birth that they are God’s. As the saying goes, our children are only on loan. Dan and I baptized them as infants, I holding firmly to my part of the covenant that I would raise them as best I could in the knowledge of Him—and demanding that God likewise keep His  part of the deal.

God seems to be saying that He’s coming through. He has not forgotten His covenant. He’s making good with me, as He made good with Noah, Abraham, David, Mary, and every one who holds on to His Promise.

I will carry you. That goes for my daughter, and it still goes for me.

Posted by email from 40 Day Fast (posterous)