Rite of Passage

Do you remember the moment when you were first entrusted with the keys? Maybe it was the lawnmower, a tractor, or the family car. My son is currently learning how to drive the old farm tractor.  Only ever having been on the receiving end of this relationship as a youth, I am now experiencing the opposite side of this dance, the one of relinquishing control.  Much of the same emotions from years ago wash over me, a tangled knotted ball of hesitation, pride, and fear, all wrapped into one.

I guess this is parenthood. Or maybe it’s just the life cycle. This transition from a child playing in the sandbox with a toy tractor to now driving one. These minuscule moments that form the passage of time and inevitable march to independence.

The whole process is akin to learning to drive. It’s kind of jerky, awkward and anything but smooth. Shifting, releasing the clutch and letting up, beginning to steer and drive.  All the while his father coaching and whispering instructions, encouragement, and corrections in his ear.

Releasing your child and having faith that the past years of instructions have built the character and done their job is really, really hard. I know this is just one of many more experiences to come. While this moment leaves me exposed and feeling a little raw; yet my heart is elated as his nervous expression evaporates and the flash of lightening white transforms his face into a wide grin. The pride that etches across his face remains long after the dirt of the day has been scrubbed off.

 I suppose when I Iook at my son, I’ll always see a little bit of my baby boy, tractor clutched in his hand, playing in the sandbox. Perhaps God created mothers to be the keeper’s of stories and time.  So as his mother I’ll continue to make it a habit to slow down, to ponder and treasure all this in my heart. For time stubbornly refuses to slow down, so I must.