Give me your worries, Child
Drop them, one by one,
into my cupped hands.
Name them, call them out
for all the worry
they’ve thrashed about
in your tiny heart.
Give me your worries, Child;
Each one will rest in my care,
Relax your heart from the wear and tear.
I will hold each and every knot.
No matter how great the tension,
Together, we will lessen their grip
So you can sleep.
In the morning, under a shining sun,
I will return each and every one
back to you, but only if you ask.
The task is yours to recall each tightly worried knot,
Unless daybreak melts
all the spells they cast on you.
When my girls were young, just as I was tucking them into bed, if I saw that they were turning something over and over in their brains, I would offer to hold the thoughts until morning. Now that my girls have one foot out the door, and their worries more consequential, I long for the times when those tightly knotted fears were small enough to fit in the palm of my hand. While I still try to help my girls carry their heaviest loads, I’m slowly learning that they must shoulder so much on their own. It’s the greatest “letting go” of parenthood — and within, there’s grace.