Training Wheels + Stitches of Trust
As I sit down to write this blog, my middle son, Chase is finishing up his last day of high school. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t emotional. Even though I’ve done this before, it still feels new, raw, and bittersweet.
When Brooklyn left, I created more space to feel and anticipate what was coming. In a time of prayer, I vividly remember “seeing” what was happening in my heart. I saw something beautiful, something significant that was a part of me, slowly pulling away from my chest. What once was firmly affixed was working its way free. The separation of this precious part of me left a bloody and painful mark.
And, I didn’t know how to fix it.
So I turned to God and showed Him everything that hurt. His eyes were compassionate and kind, and His strong, yet gentle hands, stitched my heart closed with a black cord in the shape of an X. “Why the black Xs,” I asked. And He replied, “These are stitches of trust. And every time you release her to me, I’ll help your heart heal with one.”
Over time, my heart was mended by these “stitches of trust.”And the ache of launching one of the most beautiful gifts that God had ever given me was richly replaced by the joy of watching her become the young woman He dreamed her up to be.
I’m finding myself in this same space again.
But with Chase, I’m reminded of the day he begged me to take his training wheels off. He had just turned three years old, and all of the neighborhood kids were riding without them. Brooklyn, who was almost two years older, had barely mastered the art of two-wheeled riding, so this seemed outlandish to me.
I felt like he wasn’t ready.
I was certain that I’d be nursing a scraped knee, or even worse (my mind ran wild).
His begging to “get the extra wheels off,” became louder, and more chronic, than my fears, so we caved and the wheels came off.
As it turns out, this was more than just a lesson in learning how to ride a bike.
It was a lesson for me to learn how to let go; and a lesson for him to learn how to go on his own.
As soon as the last screw was removed, Chase ran for the road. He grabbed ahold of the handlebars, mounted up, and pedaled with courage and resolve. I noticed that if he looked back, he would wobble, swerve, and fall. But as he looked forward, he found balance and made his way down the road. I could see him anticipate the bumps. I watched him think and react for himself as he focused on the road in front of him.
He did it!
And, all I could do was pray, clap, shout out suggestions, and be present. (And also cry a little)
It was his time to learn, grow, and become. And it's his time to learn, grow, and become once again.
This revelation is equal parts thrilling and terrifying for me, but I believe wholeheartedly that God is in the details of our becoming. So, I let go, bless, pray, clap, and commit to being present as we launch him into this world. Like his siblings, he’s one of the brightest and most enjoyable gifts we’ve ever been given.
