On Loving and Letting Go

There are two competing aspects of life, and especially motherhood, that have defined the last 22 years for me.

Loving

And letting go.

Loving fiercely, protectively, with everything I’ve got.

Letting go, reluctantly, fearfully, and fighting all the way.

It has been, by far, the greatest paradox of my life. It’s also where I’ve learned the most about myself and the grace of God.

“Trusting God is holding loosely the parts of my life I want to hold most tightly.” Lysa Terkurst

There have been too many times in my life when my love for my children has absolutely rendered me frozen and unable to let go, even when I knew it was time.

Leaving my youngest’s bed at the hospital, not sure if he would live or die.

Leaving my oldest in a college dorm room and driving away, never having really spent more than a handful of nights away from each other.

Staying in an abusive marriage for far too long, sure that it was in my children’s best interests to keep it all together.

In all of these instances, I had to be forced, sometimes literally, mostly figuratively, kicking and screaming to loosen my grip and let go.

“Everything I’ve let go of has claw marks on it.” Anne Lamott

For this month’s A Time Of Little Things study, I completed a deep dive into the story of Moses’ mother.

Her story is one that haunted me when my children were younger.

Would I be able to do it? Could I put my baby in that basket and watch him float away?

Honestly, I used to think I would rather let us both die than let go in such traumatic and spectacular fashion.

I am not proud of this.

The truth is, Moses’ mom is an example of loving a child so much that you are willing to take chances, terrifying chances, to help them live. It’s channeling love into something that does more than defend and protect.

Loving, I’m learning, is always at one point or another about letting go.

It’s the worst. It’s also the only way to really allow us all to live.

“Let it go. So something new can grow.” Beth Moore

For years, I have battled with the metaphor of that papyrus basket, sitting on the bank of the Nile, waiting for something precious to be placed inside.

It began with my youngest and all of his medical complexities and concerns. At one point, I ran out of options to help and had to place him in that basket gently, lovingly, but with a flood of tears and anxiety. One of the hardest things I’ve ever done is push him out into the river and let it all drift into the hands of God.

I did the same when my oldest went to college and when my marriage was failing. The basket on the Nile is where I come to the end of myself and finally, despite all my best efforts to the contrary, realize that some things are beyond my control. That sometimes, the most loving thing to do is to push that basket out past the reeds and into the current. Sometimes, the most loving thing to do is to let go.

As I studied more about Moses’ mom this month, another, very different thought has welled up in my spirit.

Maybe there are things I am clinging to that have nothing to do with anyone else and have everything to do with me. Maybe these things need to be placed in that basket too.

What I need to let go of

• My willingness to allow myself to be mistreated in order to be loved.
• My constant doubting of myself and my ability to support my children on my own.
• My fear of the future.
• My fear of the past.
• My desire to keep things as simple and non-threatening as possible for my children, no matter what the cost.
• The threat I feel when I finally allow myself to rest.

I want to put this list, like one big, dark, messy bundle, into that basket and kick it down the Nile. But I can’t. Not like that.

I know from hard lived experience that letting go is a practice, not an event.

It’s showing up at the banks of the river and doing it over and over again. It’s been true for my children. It has certainly been the case with my marriage.

Through writing to you each week, I am letting go of what no longer serves me, a little at a time, over and over again.

Thank you for helping me release my grip.