Training Wheels

The young boy wobbles less on his new bike,
And the training wheels disappear,
Leaving joy and doubt remaining-
both within and without.

The Father now assumes their role-
Supporting, lifting, providing safety.
But he continues to add encouragement, love and faith-
Things training wheels could never provide.

Yet so quickly, even the father is no longer needed.
Riding solo- wind in his face- free to fly or fall-- on his own.
Ecstasy of accomplishment and joy of freedom!
No outside influence or support from training wheels.... or dad.

But the faith, encouragement and love remain-- at the ready.
Both newly confident rider and anxious but proud observer know this.
And they find quiet comfort in the knowledge.

Now, the young man heads off to his first homecoming dance-
Taller, straighter, stronger- almost taller than Dad.
No training wheels.
No parents--- on his own.
Wind in his face again....Free!
To fly or fall.
But with the secure knowledge that
The love and faith and encouragement
Will always be there.

Training wheels- on call.

The Bridle

Your patience with me has been phenomenal.
Wordlessly enduring the fears and questions.
Supporting, defending, consoling and comforting.
Bridling passions to allow passions to flow.

My grandfather's old pasture horse didn't do much.
He had seen his best years, and mostly just chomped slowly,
Tail swishing languidly to swat a persistent fly.
The irony of the bridle was his.
In restraining- he was set free-
To romp and play and run and feel-
To Be.
But with the bridle off,
He quietly resumed his slow chomping.
Not daring to live.

The River- again

It's truly amazing to me how much symbolism lies in the rivers of our lives. Perhaps it's because I've spent most of my life living in close proximity to, and often nestled in a bend of, assorted rivers. Perhaps it's because I'm looking for symbolism now in everything from my walk to the song on the radio to the prophetic formations my cheerios make in the morning.

We walk earlier now. The kids have an early morning class at 6:45, so we leave at 5:45 for the walk. My bride and I head to the river- to talk and walk and listen to its rumblings. Our conversation follows the vagaries of that first creek which carved a curvy path through our town centuries ago. Plans for the weekend, who are we? how are the kids? how are we? are all up for grabs in the morning conversational melee.

This morning it was dark- and the river lay obscured by the shrouds of fading night. yet the darkness held beauty. I was a step or two ahead when I saw it-- sure enough- a skunk. Now I had seen all manner of wildlife on the walk- deer, fawns, water fowl, puppies, geese, etc. They were all beautiful and added to the magic of the fog lifting off the river.....but I had never seen a skunk before. Luckily we eluded its observation, turned around and headed the other way. Particularly fortunate was the fact that Beau, the 13 year old golden retriever who accompanies us, has lost not only what little killer instinct he ever had, but also most of his hearing and powers of observation. "Skunk? What skunk? Why we turning around?" "Come one Beau- you protector you."

Interestingly, it could have been a bad morning. Here's the funny part- it wasn't . We could have dwelt on the dark morning, the obscured river, the skunk from hades, but instead we looked past the immediate difficulties and saw two people in love having a nice walk. When we came to the stop light that is our demarcation point, my love turned left to go home to the kids, and I turned right to go do a real workout walk and head up the big hill that traditionally finishes off my walks. Yet even our brief parting was not difficult, but just a realization that our needs were slightly different at that time, and we'd be together again shortly.

To overcome obvious symbolism and morning difficulties is a good sign. These days there are lots of them.