The Bravest Thing We Do As Parents

Alida at camp. Seeing her belonging in a group makes my heart smile.

Tomorrow I'll be standing at the airport waiting for my youngest daughter.

She's nine years old.

She'll be coming home after spending three and a half weeks at summer camp—her third summer away from home.

Some people think I'm a little crazy for sending her away for that long. Others think I'm completely nuts for putting a nine-year-old on a plane and sending her across the country.

Maybe they're not entirely wrong.

I remember hugging her goodbye a few weeks ago. She grabbed her stuffy, smiled, turned toward her cabin, and just like that...she was gone.

And there I stood.

A mama.

Trying to convince myself I was okay.

People often assume that because I've spent more than twenty years working in camps, youth development, and outdoor education, sending my own kids away is easy.

It's not.

In some ways, I think it's harder.

I've seen enough to know there are no guarantees in life.

I've also seen enough to know there is tremendous beauty waiting on the other side of letting go.

Choosing Trust

This week, like so many parents, I've found myself thinking about the families in Texas.

I've watched the news.

I've cried.

I've started writing this post more times than I can count.

There are moments when tragedy reminds us of something we usually keep tucked quietly in the back of our minds:

Love always carries risk.

The moment we become parents, we sign up for a lifetime of vulnerability.

We buckle car seats.

We teach our kids to swim.

We remind them to look both ways before crossing the street.

We buy bike helmets.

We lose sleep.

We worry.

And then...

Little by little...

We let them go.

Not because we're fearless.

Because that's what love asks of us.

Trust Isn't Blind

People sometimes ask me how I could possibly send my own daughter away to camp.

The answer isn't because I believe camp is risk-free.

It's because I trust the people.

Not blindly.

Thoughtfully.

There is a very short list of camps where I would send my own children.

Not because I believe nothing bad could ever happen.

Because I know the culture.

I know the questions they ask.

I know they lose sleep over the same things I lose sleep over.

I know they are constantly trying to get better.

That's trust.

Not perfection.

One Marble at a Time

One of my favorite stories from Brené Brown is about a marble jar.

Trust isn't built through one grand gesture.

It's built one marble at a time.

A promise kept.

An honest conversation.

A hard decision.

Someone choosing integrity when no one is watching.

One marble.

Then another.

Then another.

Parenting works the same way.

Friendships work the same way.

Communities work the same way.

And so do the organizations we choose to trust with our children.

Growth Asks Something of Parents Too

A few weeks ago I wrote that growth is messy.

That confidence doesn't come first.

That challenge changes us.

This week I'm realizing something else.

Growth asks something of parents too.

It asks us to trust.

Not carelessly.

Not because we're certain.

But because we believe these incredible little humans we're raising are capable of doing hard things.

Of becoming more independent.

More resilient.

More compassionate.

More themselves.

That doesn't mean we stop worrying.

It means we refuse to let fear become the loudest voice in the room.

The Long Walk

I think every parent has one.

The walk away from kindergarten.

The walk back to your car after freshman move-in.

The walk from the trailhead.

The walk away from the camp cabin.

The airport gate.

The soccer field.

The school bus.

Every stage of parenting asks us to loosen our grip just a little more.

Not because we're certain.

Because we're hopeful.

We Love Anyway

Even in the face of heartbreaking loss, I still believe our children need mountains to climb. Rivers to paddle. Friends they'll never forget.

Campfires.

Challenges.

Adventure.

Opportunities to discover who they are when we're not standing beside them.

As parents, our responsibility isn't to eliminate every risk.

It never has been.

Our responsibility is to thoughtfully choose the people who will help shape our children.

To prepare them.

To pray for them.

To believe in them.

And then...

With full hearts and trembling hands...

To let them go.

Because the very thing that makes love so vulnerable is also what makes it so beautiful.