Letting Go

A little girl with two golden-brown curly-cued pony-tails on each side of her head wobbles uncertainly on her hot pink bike while her daddy begins to push it with one strong hand on the back of the seat and the other firmly placed over her hand on the handle bars. She tentatively lifts up one foot, then the other, to each pedal, looking up at him with pleading blue eyes. “Please don’t let go, Daddy!”

“I’ve got you, Sweetheart,” he responds, and they begin moving slowly down the empty street. As the wind blows her pigtails back and they begin to pick up speed, she pedals like he taught her to do. The sense of accomplishment begins to well up inside her and she laughs, looking up at him, more confidently now. The bike propels forward and suddenly she has a sense of flying down that road, that she’s really getting somewhere. All at once, she realizes that her Daddy’s strong hands are no longer holding onto her glittery-tassled bike, but he’s laughing and cheering her on. This realization causes her to tip and she falls into the grass at the side of the road. Though it takes some coaxing, the golden-brown haired girl is finally convinced that she CAN do it herself and takes off independently down the road, not a care in the world.

In just a few short weeks, I will be hugging my third child goodbye and will return to West Africa, leaving her behind. You would think it gets easier, but each one is different, and all are difficult. It’s like leaving pieces of your heart behind. But, like when we taught them each to ride a bike, we didn’t hold onto that bike seat so that we could keep pushing them down the road. We did it so that they could ride their bikes on their own. I can’t say that we did a great job as parents, but we did the best we knew how. When they scraped their knees, we dried their tears and cleaned and bandaged their wounds. When their hearts were broken, we held them as they cried, encouraged them that God would heal their hearts, and we were here for them. We have made plenty of mistakes, but we never stopped loving them with everything in us and praying constantly that God’s grace would make up for the things we did or didn’t do that could scar them or make them come up lacking in some way.

I don’t regret our choice to raise our kids in West Africa. They have a view of the world that is different from many others and that’s Ok. They know what it means to count the cost of following Christ, and that’s more important than piano recitals and little league baseball games. This girl, our number 3, loves well, creates beautiful things, and is confident in the young woman God is creating her to be. She doesn’t believe in Jesus because we taught her to believe (and we sure did), and she has questioned truths to know WHY she should believe. I’m deeply thankful that my tall, golden-brown haired, blue-eyed girl loves and believes in Jesus because she’s found for herself that He is real and loved her first, so much more than anyone else could. Even her Daddy and me.

It is hard letting go, because she holds a piece of my heart. But, I’m ready to see how she will fly, throw my head back and laugh for joy as she realizes it’s Ok, and she can do it. But, her Daddy and I will never stop loving her with all we are and praying that God’s grace will keep on carrying her like it has all the days of her life. I’m able to let go because He’s still got His hand on her, and I know that He never will.