I have been thinking of and praying for each of my children more often than normal. Nothing is wrong. They are all healthy. Yet, they are teenagers and each one is in a space of tremendous growth. My role as parent feels vague. I listen. I love. I pray. I try my best not to worry. I get frustrated and snarky. I try to keep my sense of humor and I love more.
This morning I pulled out The Prophet, by Kahill Gibran and reread for the millionth time his words on children. The last four stanzas spoke deeply to me:
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent fourth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as he loves the arrow that flies so He loves also the bow that is stable.
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