Capacity

I had a chat with a friend of mine today, about God-given gifts. I do believe we are given these gifts by the Divine. And then I sort of think that the Divine sits back, grabs a cold beverage, and waits to see what we'll do with them. (Rooting for us all the way, of course.) Let's just say I don't believe that the Gifts come with receipts for exchange or return.

So. God-given gifts. Turns out my gift is the capacity for great love. (Not great lovin'. Although maybe that too. I just haven't had enough wine to blog about it.)

Ahem.

Great Love.

This is the space in your heart to love someone - be it spouse or friend or sibling - with the depth and breadth of all emotion. Maybe it could be described as Super Loyalty: an unfailing belief in my people, regardless of missteps, ill-chosen words or outfits, even the most awkward of moments. (What? Kiss me and then vomit on my new shoes? No, I'm sure you didn't. I don't remember that at all!)

But this capacity for love can be crippling. Because to love that much? It hurts. And it is never more painful than when you are watching those you love grow, change, and do all the painful things that humans must do to become more - to get bigger according to the Existential Size Chart of The Universe. It hurts to be along for the ride, even if you're not the one doing the growing that particular day. Did I ever tell y'all about the year I grew 8 inches and woke many nights with searing pain in my limbs, as I literally felt my legs stretch into a 34" inseam? These are the same searing pains, just in your heart.

But equally, when you experience love this deeply, you will also live with transcendent joy. You will feel the moments of gut-busting pride, the seconds of evanescent enchantment when happiness trumps all, when dark and sad and bleak become mere grease stains on the hem of delight's napkin.

Come Monday, I will put my eight year old on the bus. I will send her to a new teacher, and trust my girl's sensitive loving heart to go out in the world and come back intact. Then, I will take my five year old and my two year old by the hand and we will walk a trail and look for the first signs of autumn, and I will show them "how this life became a miracle to me."

I came across this Dar Williams song this week - a friend posted it and commented that ''this is for all those parents sending their child out into the world this week."



Again and again the chorus muses "so when they ask how far love goes/ When my job's done, you'll be the one who knows."

This is what I do with my gift: I show them how far love goes.

Cool

And so it begins.

She stomped out of the house yesterday morning at 8.15 completely irate that I'd made two pigtails to keep her hair out of her face, instead of one ponytail. (Silly me.)  "I look like a dork!!!!" she huffed.

The night before there'd been much drama because I was ever so gently but firmly insisting that a turtleneck was going to be a necessary part of the outfit for school because it is below freezing outside.  "It's not cool to wear a turtleneck!!" she yelled.  Fine.  I'll take the 96 outfits that you have, 94 more than most kids in the world will ever have, and make them disappear.  "NO!" she said.  "I'll wear them.  Just not this month."

People, she's SEVEN.  She's in FIRST GRADE.

I knew the time was coming, the time when my vision of sweet corduroy jumpers and matching turtlenecks and tights would be kicked to the curb in favor of skinny jeans and sweatshirts. I knew I'd hear the words "I look like a dork!" and "it's not cool!", and I knew I'd get to see the backside of an indignant kid stomping off to the bus stop.

I just thought......I just thought I had more time. 

And she's one of the more innocent seven-year-olds, as near as I can tell.  She hasn't seen High School Musical, she hasn't had a professional pedicure, and [shock! gasp!] she doesn't know any Hannah Montana or Jonas Brothers songs.  This is not bragging here, this is just...... wondering why childhood is getting so short.

What's the rush, world?

But then she came home from school, full of sunshine and happy stories about her day, and I remembered again [sigh] that this is a process, a journey, in which we will sometimes take great leaps forward (towards using the word 'dork', I guess) and sometimes we will listen to the happy giggles of a seven year old who loves her baby sister's slide as much as any two year old, and love love love living in the moment.