Letting Go

My 5 year old daughter Elise is taking swimming lessons at our community pool this summer. Our routine has been to hastily wake up my kids, feed them, pull on their bathing suits and hustle out the door. I'm typically a few minutes late, but we get there.

Alec will be 4 on July 11th. I watch the other beginners classes splashing around the pool, listening to their moms oooh and ah over each new feat, blowing bubbles in the water, kicking their legs behind them. And I am envious.

Alec typically plays in the kiddy pool. I would like to have him enrolled in a class, too, but I don't think he can understand the language enough, and he is so timid in the water. He loves the baby pool, but when he is in the "big pool", he holds on like a clamp.

Today, a mother sitting next to me was watching her child, six months older than Alec, on the "Shrimpers" swim team. Watching her son swim, she said, "Isn't it remarkable that a 4 year old can do so well?"

Yes, it was. Being around other neurotypical kids is hard sometimes. It's hard not to compare. I see so much improvement in Alec, and I am so amazed by it...until I see a child very close Alec's age and I realize how long the road is ahead of us.

I think I received a special blessing today, after that comment from the mom at the pool.

Alec wanted to swim in the "big pool" today. Of course, that means splashing on the steps or holding onto me for dear life as I walk him around.

But today, Elise brought up his little arm floats (we call them "floaties") and to my surprise, Alec put them on. (Last year, he would have nothing to do with putting anything like that on his arms.)

So, I took Alec out into the water. There were a zillion kids, all happy, splashing and quite loud around us. Enough to terrorize a kid with a sensory integration disorder, and it even made me anxious at times. But out we went.

For a while, Alec just held on tightly. "Give me a hug!", he would keep saying. But then, after a bit, I balanced him on my knee. After more time, I had him grab only my hands. With each move towards independence, there was a look of terror on his face. But each time he succeeded in letting go, I saw a moment of timid joy pass over him.

Again and again we did this. With every step, I would praise him, encouraging him to say "Look at me! I can do it!"

Finally, I took my hands and pulled them away, leaving him with only the support of the arm floaties. Again, a look of terror crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced by pure joy. He was held up, on his own, and the look on his face was priceless. He was there, with all of the other kids, doing what they were doing and he didn't need me. At least not at that moment.

I can't tell you what I felt at that moment. Pure joy, seeing my son realize what he had the power to do all along, feeling his pride. In minutes, he was moving around the pool in those floaties, going back to the steps and jumping in, a permanent look of joy on his face.

I know the other moms must have thought I was insane with the amount of praising I lavished on this child as he floated there, on his own. But I knew it was an incredible victory.

And I started to think that God must feel the same way I felt, seeing Alec floating above the water, with that smile shining from his face. He must want so much for us, but we hold on so tightly to our fear. It keeps us from doing the incredible. How hard it is for us to just let go and trust Him to take care of our needs, to guide us on, to fully trust His support?

Seeing Alec, with his looks of fear replaced by pure joy, I thought "We are so like that. If we could only let go, what would we be able to do? Could we push past the fear and discover that we can do far more than we imagined?" I believe we can. I'm gonna try.