Mom in the Mirror

What faith is

I feel like I've been falling.

Sometimes it's a slow fall, and I can almost feel the bungee cord pulling me back up to the bridge that carries me across days filled with pain, disappointment and frustration.

Sometimes it's a fast fall, and all I feel is my rapidly-beating heart, racing out of my body on some flight plan it hasn't filed with my head.

Most times it's somewhere in between, a medium fall that disorients, confuses and confounds me so I lose track of where I am.

I am afraid I will never stop falling. Or maybe I'm afraid of what will happen if I do stop falling. Where will my fall end? Where will I end up?

I'm a veteran of the trust wars. I've battled for years against trusting myself, trusting other people, trusting God. And that's why faith has been my safety net. Faith doesn't require trust. It just requires itself; it requires faith.

Faith that no matter how hard or fast I fall, I will always be caught.

Lightning strikes for the first time

Early Saturday morning, the phone rang. Colter's friend was inviting him to the Tampa Bay Lightning game that night. The crowd, the fights, the noise, the smells, the strangers, my baby. How could I say yes? The excitement, the freedom, the junk food, the thrill of victory, the new experience. How could I say no?

For 10 years I've been holding on to my son, protecting him. But this weekend I knew the time had come to start trusting he could begin protecting himself.

We left the decision up to Colter. Because he's never been to a hockey game, we described for him what it might be like in the arena: very loud, very bright, very sticky. We told him if he went it'd be with his dad's cell phone and asked him what he'd do if he got separated from his friend and his friend's father. He thought for a moment, then said he'd call his friend's father, whose number is programmed into the phone. His smart solution confirmed my confidence in him.

I called only once early in the evening to see how things were going, then he called twice to tell me about the score and the foam finger he bought. When he got home late that night, he woke me up to kiss me and then told Gary it was the best night of his life.

It may have been our finest moment as parents.

Colter needs to start living more independently, and I've got to start letting go. I will struggle with when and how to hold on loosely and let go safely, how to help him recognize risk and manage it. I will help him ask questions rather than assume I know all the answers.

Because it will be the choices he makes that determines who he is, not the choices we make for him.

Someone's growing up, and I'm pretty sure it's me.