In a discussion yesterday about the sudden lack of certainty about parenting brought about by having a newishly-minted teenager in the house, I was introduced, by a friend experienced in these things, to a poem by Alan Paton. It has been churning around deep inside me since:
The message, however, remains the same.
I Hold the Bandages and Ointments Ready
Alan Paton
(from "Knocking at the Door" - 1975)
I see my son wearing long trousers; I tremble at this.
I see he goes forward confidently, he does not know so fully his own gentleness.
Go forward, eager and reverent child.
See here, I begin to take my hands away from you.
I shall see you walk carelessly on the edge of the precipice, but if you wish, you shall hear no word come out of me.
My whole soul will be sick with apprehension, but I shall not disobey you.
Life sees you coming, she sees you come with assurance toward her.
She lies in wait for you.
She cannot but hurt you.
Yet go forward. Go forward. I hold the bandages and ointments ready.
And if you would go elsewhere and lie alone with your wounds, I shall not intrude upon you.
If you would seek the help of some other person, I will not come forcing myself upon you.
If you should fall into sin, innocent one, that is the way of this pilgrimage.
Struggle against it, not for one fraction of a moment concede its dominion.
It will occasion you grief and sorrow, it will torment you.
But hate not God, nor turn from Him in shame or self-reproach.
He has seen many such, and His compassion is as great as His creation.
Be tempted and fall and return.
Return and be tempted and fall, a thousand times a thousand, even to a thousand thousand.
For out of this tribulation there comes a peace, deep in the soul and surer than any dream...
I see he goes forward confidently, he does not know so fully his own gentleness.
Go forward, eager and reverent child.
See here, I begin to take my hands away from you.
I shall see you walk carelessly on the edge of the precipice, but if you wish, you shall hear no word come out of me.
My whole soul will be sick with apprehension, but I shall not disobey you.
Life sees you coming, she sees you come with assurance toward her.
She lies in wait for you.
She cannot but hurt you.
Yet go forward. Go forward. I hold the bandages and ointments ready.
And if you would go elsewhere and lie alone with your wounds, I shall not intrude upon you.
If you would seek the help of some other person, I will not come forcing myself upon you.
If you should fall into sin, innocent one, that is the way of this pilgrimage.
Struggle against it, not for one fraction of a moment concede its dominion.
It will occasion you grief and sorrow, it will torment you.
But hate not God, nor turn from Him in shame or self-reproach.
He has seen many such, and His compassion is as great as His creation.
Be tempted and fall and return.
Return and be tempted and fall, a thousand times a thousand, even to a thousand thousand.
For out of this tribulation there comes a peace, deep in the soul and surer than any dream...
I, of course, must needs exchange "daughter" for "son", "she/her" for "he/his" and "high heels" for "long trousers".
The message, however, remains the same.
Love in this season is expressed less by the tight embraces of her childhood and more by my willingness to expose myself to the terror and inevitable pain of letting her go
- by holding on to my love, but not my child.
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