Can you recall the first dream you had for your child? Or the first desire you had for them to live out — perhaps before they were even born?
I can remember mine clearly, but the more I have thought about it, the more I’ve realized that the desire I had for my firstborn was a direct reflection of how I wanted to see my role of mom play out — not necessarily how or what I wanted him to be. Ouch and Woah!
What caused this too-early-for-a-motherhood-crisis thought, exactly? A beautifully written poem by Khalil Gibran titled “On Children”. This poem is part of his book The Prophet, which is a beautiful collection of his writings on the experience of coming into and living in the world. These words also accompany more of the deep thoughts that fill my head as I stare at the albums of pictures from our family summer adventures.
“Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself. They come through you but not from you, and though they are with you yet they belong not to you.”
Queue the ugly cry, y’all!
Gazing at photos of my kids, I thought of my three sweet little terrors and reminisced about the summer trips, pool adventures, and outdoor escapades; thinking how much fun we all had. I also found myself briefly stuck on the not-so-happy short experiences that came along with a few of those. You know the kind of thing I’m talking about: exhaustion meltdowns, the heat-induced, hanger-induced meltdowns, you name it.
But then it hit me. My kids are not the picture of a parenthood dream I had before each of them came into this world. My kids are loud, opinionated, boisterous and independent. My parenthood dream resembled children gently giggling and kindly playing with one another, holding mama’s hand and frolicking in the park. *insert buzzer sound here*
And maybe that’s good, because Gibran challenges us to see ourselves as stewards of our children, rather than the owners of their future or potential:
“You may give them your love but not your thought, for they have their own thoughts.”
Another punch to the gut, or what?
I protect my children’s voice and encourage their thoughts and desires. I encourage their opinion, even if it’s not what I’d like, and model a way for them to be kind in sharing opposing ideas. My desire for them to love the things I love is overshadowed by my desire to have them bloom into the people they were meant to be — the people that the world needs them to be.
The poem also speaks to the natural tension between a parent’s instinct to protect and the necessity of letting go. Gibran uses the metaphor of the archer and the bow to illustrate this dynamic: “You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.” Our children are like arrows, full of potential and energy, and our role is to provide the steady foundation from which they can launch.
However, once they take flight, it is their journey, their direction, that they must follow. So, I guess that means I shouldn’t rent an apartment next to their dorms when they go off to college? What about applying as an adjunct professor — a step too far? Fine. I’ll gladly accept a volunteer role on campus as a tutor. Kidding. Maybe?
The strife in parenthood often comes from the fear of this release, yet it is through this act of our letting go that children truly learn to soar.
So — now the real challenge.
How do we let our kids soar in a world so BIG?
Well, start young! Encourage decision making. Encourage failing forward. Encourage healthy conflict. Encourage boisterous moments and unplanned time. Encourage them to fly their own plane and not be too afraid to snag a twig or two on their wings, because they’ll heal and navigate differently the next time.
The best part of letting them fly is that they’ll always know that their safest and most reliable hangar is with you.
