Last year a new little girl joined the preschool. Her mother is much like I was forty years ago, unwaveringly devoted to my firstborn. Extended breastfeeding, the family bed, natural food, cotton clothes, and homeopathy were the guideposts of my mothering, and this young woman expressed the same ideals for her daughter. The mom's reluctance to actually leave her child with people she barely knew was as thick as a rope, and it took awhile before she could force herself to walk out the door. Her daughter showed no signs of distress and busied herself with the wooden fruit, bean bin, and silk scarves. 

 

It brought me back to one of the first times I left my son Lukas with another mother, so that I could attend a tea party. It seemed excessively selfish, my desire to be with friends, and it was difficult to break away. But the woman was patient and reassured me that he would be fine. More than fine. 

 

I went. And he was.

 

I laugh to think of how consummately capable he has become. This small boy that I was anxious about leaving for an hour has become a world traveler, venturing to Europe, New Zealand, and Mexico. He could find a gas station with his phone before I knew how to speed dial. When he and I visited Paris it was he who navigated the subways.

 

When I went to Aruba with my sisters I suddenly panicked to think I had not left any way for John to contact me. I was staying at the condo of a person whose name he did not know. My mind zapped to worst case scenarios, until I thought of Lukas. He would be able to find me. I didn't know how, but in an emergency he would find a way. I calmed down.

 

In my heart I wanted to reassure this mother that her daughter would be fine. That her child might even grow up to astonish her. But I just smiled.

 

Last spring I was chatting with a woman whose marriage was just learning to walk when I was born. Her sixtieth anniversary is next summer. We shared our concerns about the future of marriage in a culture that sullies it. On the way home I prayed, asking for reassurance that God is indeed present in our hurting world. The dogwoods along the road were as white as a wedding dress, and the birds sang like flutes among their branches.

 

I had a feeling He was trying to let me know that all will be well.