Elisa,
I was convinced this day would be a disaster. I had mumbled and grumbled out of the driveway that I sure hoped the trail was covered so you wouldn't bake in the sun while I wallowed in guilt. We didn't know exact directions. I had read something about a 40 minutes to the tower, and now that I thought about it, that was an eternity. Why didn't your daddy think about these things? It took a winding river of a road and a face of a black bear until I could relax.
Sometimes, I crush the life out of things because I believe the tight fist of control can save. I've bought the lie that if you plan well enough, you'll never have mistakes, whether or not you can learn from them. It is fear masquerading as provision, protection.
May you never inherit your mother's white knuckles. You'll miss so much if you do.
You'll never see mountain laurel if you stop at loose rock steps.
You won't even reach towers if you stop where the trail slants.
And it'll take faith in worn steps to see views like these:
You're the reason I want to keep climbing what scares me.
You're teaching me how to live wide-handedly. May you plan only to be amazed and delighted. And rest knowing He's good, good wherever he leads.
Love,
Your Mama
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