Letting Go

I went to church today, mostly full of nerves because I play in the bell choir, and today’s anthem pushed me just slightly beyond my comfort zone as a musician.  I was focused on the song, and the ringing, and the counting. I was rehearsing in my head as a family entered the sanctuary.  They were there to baptize their twin daughters.  Those little girls were gorgeous and innocent and wide-eyed in their frilly white dresses.  I cried. 

Those moments take me by surprise and they take my breath away.  I was crying because I remembered Lee’s baptism.  The frilly white dress.  The white patent leather shoes.  The little flowered headband that wouldn’t stay where I placed it.  The baby smiles and the baby eyes and all of the dreams and hopes that I had for this child… they flooded my memory and my emotions went into overload.  

What moment is more beautiful and hopeful than the baptism of a baby?  On that day, we imagine the most inspiring version of what we hope for our children.  A loving community.  A strong faith.  An abiding hope.  A future full of ups and downs, of course, but hopefully more ups.  The love of family and friends and community and God. 

And there I was, overreacting to the baptism of children I didn’t even know.  I stepped out of the sanctuary.  I found a safe place to cry in the church kitchen, with friends who held me as I felt all of the emotions that I so rarely allow myself to feel. And even now, I feel guilty writing about it.  I have nothing to grieve.  I have a son to celebrate and honor and love.  I have a happy, healthy, thriving child who is growing perfectly into who God created him to be.  

So I wiped away my tears. I snuck back in to the sanctuary, and sat in the last pew with a friend who just happened to be there.  I got there just in time for the sermon.  And my pastor delivered the exact message that I needed to hear.  She spoke about letting go.  Letting go of expectations and grief and fear.  Letting go of our children when it’s time.  Releasing our tight grasp on certainty and security and taking a leap of faith towards the path that we’re meant to travel.  My friend held my hand through the prayers and handed me a tissue as all of those bottled up emotions squeezed out through my closed eyes.  

Lee’s baptism dress still hangs in the back of my closet.  It’s the one clothing item I wouldn’t let him give away.  I’ve been hanging on to it; holding tight to a memory that’s so tightly interwoven with the hopes and expectations I had for my child. Those tears and that sermon and that beautiful baptism helped me to see that I need to release them.  I have photos and memories, but that dress and those expectations?  I need to let them go.  

After the service, I sat in the pew, reflecting for a moment on the emotions that had flooded me.  And this amazing child walked in and rolled his eyes, and with his most exasperated voice, he smirked at me.  “Mom, were you crying in church AGAIN?” I wrapped this growing young man into a hug, and I was overwhelmed with love and pride and gratitude for the gift of being his mom.  I’m going to hold on tight to that, and let all the rest go.