Thursday, April 12, 2012

My leap of faith

I remember well the excitement that came from maneuvering my bike around our old neighborhood, feeling the wind across my face riding fast downhill, knowing I controlled the next move.  Getting to this point of comfort did not come easy, however, because there was such assurance previously in the safety of those training wheels, along with its dependency.  Though with my dad's encouragement and guiding hand, eventually the training wheels came off, as I discovered my own balance and gained confidence.  

But, between the safety of my training wheels and the freedom of independent riding was a period of time where all I could do was surrender.  Surrender to this new feeling of imbalance, surrender to the risk of pain caused by falling, surrender to the possibility of breeze blown rides enjoyed down steep hills.  But in order for me to dream this last possibility, I had to accept the likelihood of the first two. 

And it was through this increased vulnerability that a more sustainable happiness could be cultivated.  In this case, riding a bike for great enjoyment.  In life, it's not as easy to see when the metaphoric training wheels have come off and our independence established.  Not until we truly surrender, do we find out how free we are to ride independent in time.  

The day was Jude's second, March 1st, and a NICU doctor rushed into our room and ran down a list of developmental health issues potentially facing our son, who was at a minimum, born without sight.  After telling us that he would need to undergo an MRI to see that his brain had not also been stunted, I found my mind racing five, ten, twenty years down the road.  Our future hinged on this test, I thought. The unknown permeated my mind.  

Through my tears and anxiety, I was given a wonderful opportunity of grace and clarity.  Jude was to be walked down to the room before going into the MRI.  Due to circumstances, Joanna was unable to walk with him and I was alone with Jude before he underwent this crucial test.  As I waited for the tech to ready things for Jude I forced myself to forget about what might come from this MRI.  Stop dwelling on what might happen later today, tomorrow or in years, I said.  And just as I trusted my father's hand to gently let go of my seat years before, in that room with my son, I surrendered to the unknown again.  I surrendered, or in this case, took a leap of faith, accepting I could not know the end result.   

This has been my focus since that moment.  I was telling a friend the other day that there is an uneasiness and a discomfort in the unknown.  We fear it, much like removing our training wheels.  And there is a lot still unknown with Jude.  We can be restrained by our fears of the unknown, or open to the joyous possibilities resting therein.  But, the best part, in that total surrender, I know beautiful things await this journey, however unplanned or unprepared or even unwelcomed, initially.  I can't know what awaits us tomorrow.  And worrying about it only limits the possibilities  I just have to leap and surrender to it.

And for what better reason than for our Leap Day baby!

Take Lord, and receive all my liberty, my memory, my understanding, and my entire will, all that I have and possess. Thou hast given all to me. To Thee, O lord, I return it. All is Thine, dispose of it wholly according to Thy will. Give me Thy love and thy grace, for this is sufficient for me.         - Ignatius Loyola
St. Jude: Pray for us.

1 comment:

  1. The unknown is a wonderful place, especially when it is with the one you can reflect how many times you have fallen to uncertainity, only to be suprised by what succumbs. Those who have inate behaviors, will learn more from those who have more to teach. I look forward to the opportunity at hand to teach my own, from the presence of others.