Dear Lord!

All the leaves are gone. Well, they're not gone, they're on the ground. They fell. Once again, the season passes and the leaves obeyed. They let go and fell.
Why is it so hard for us to let go? Why can't we relinquish old crusty views, or self-imposed rules? Why do we horde the temporal? Why do we need want so many things, or situations? And by we, I mean I.
I have struggled with this for quite some time, now. I've even tried the 30 days of nothing routine. It's good to scale back, declutter, and create some space for the eye to rest. This is not the letting go, of which I speak, now.
Tonight, on the eve of finalizing their journey…I must now let go. What if I stumble? What if I fall? What if they get hurt? What if?

I ask myself this.

What if they did not want to follow their own path, listen to the small still voice, or desire a more passionate life? What if I was the one to stand in their way of being abundantly blessed? What if God, in his omniscient power and omnipresent brilliance, designed them to hold helpless, abandoned babies, and I tried to persuade them to stay safe and comfortable?

I think we have seasons on our spiritual journey as well as our earthly path.

On a winter's day in January, I will do as I have done on countless times before. I will say good-bye. Hand in hand, and hearts in tears, I will send them to the land of red dirt and sick babies.
There they will discover a richness not found by many.
Who am I to cling to nothing and wish them to stay here.
What kind of mother wants the status quo for her children?
Not me.
I'm going down.
Facedown.