Wednesday, September 7, 2011

Everyday Life: Knowing

For two straight weeks, I'd been a mess.

With all of the agonizing and waffling and talktalktalking off of my husband's ear, you'd have thought I were tiebreaker for a hung jury during a monumental trial.

But no -- it was really just me wrestling with G's school options for the fall: every day Kindergarten Enrichment or a few morning hours three days a week.

I just couldn't be sure, I'd told my hubby, if any of us were ready for everyday school, to which he reminded me that this was really more about G than the rest of us.

Yeah, and also, how do you know what's going to be best for him before it even happens?

Simple, he'd said, you take the facts in front of you, pray, make a decision and then you choose to take the steps of faith.

Oh, yes: steps of faith.

But I know the movements of knowing, the Salsa of dancing myself into knowledge -- I work hard to conquer the complicated motions and movement.

Steps of faith.

The phrase hung in the then-thick August air as I thought about my oldest son -- wild and yet cautious, ever-thinking, always-planning, constantly-growing.

His mind is such a sponge. He soaks up knowledge and feelings and body language like a flower in full bloom during drought.

He remembers the smallest, minute details, recalls the least memorable sights and sounds from months, even years past.

I'm always so careful in making decisions for him and in regard to him because he's the kind of kid who always remembers what happened that one time when we ... {fill in the various and myriad blanks}.

I pray and wonder.

I wander, and I go over every detail of the large and small point so as to really know, so as not to miss a dot that could potentially connect them all or covertly distort the larger picture.

I wander until I backwards bump into faith and trust while salsaing passionately with knowing.

It's mid song; I attempt break free and try to find the pace of slower rhythm promised, but it looks so much harder to just let go and follow the Master Dancer's lead.


Today's the first day of school, and I'm still trying to dance in two different shows as we walk up to the familiar doors.

I snap his picture by the liberty bell before we walk in, and he bursts into a large grin upon entering.

We hold hands as we find his new cubby space.

I hand him a piece of paper for his teacher, but "Mom, could you hold that until after I was my hands?"

He remembers the routine of school.

"Hello, G!" his teacher, a neighbor of ours, greets him.

Poised to prompt him, I ready myself for saying -- but instead his voice, "Hi."

I look over my shoulder back at the salsa with my old friend knowing as G continues to slip right into his new space in the comfort of the same classroom as last year and the beat seems to get faster and faster and faster until I don't even care to keep up anymore, trying to connect all the footwork to the right places of the song.

G kissed me goodbye, his teacher gives me a reassuring pat on the back and my son heads over to the lounge chairs with a brand-new-to-the-room book.

I don't know if this is going to be good. Or if it's going to be bad. Or if it's going to simply be just normal.

But I do know, whatever happens, it's going to be OK because upon slipping into the steps of faith and trust, though unknown, and finding the beat more manageable, the Lead so smoothly guides me that I can't help but to fall into the music.

I wave goodbye to my oldest boy, slide into the long swoops of trust in Arms that won't let me fall even if lose my step a few times.