Of all the madonna images I captured while in Italy, this one -- which may not technically be a madonna at all -- was one of the most moving. It's particularly moving this morning, as my younger daughter's Christmas break ends today, and she will be driving through the mountains in winter to the next chapter of her life, which will play out in southern California. We had to say our goodbyes last night, because I'm off to a workshop (Lynn Bauman, on the Psalms) this morning and will only wake her for a quick hug. For me there's something timeless about hugging my daughters, as if I am instantly transported to all the other hugs, all the other goodbyes, all the other tender moments in our lives together, and in that moment all the maturity and responsibility they've developed in their 20 years of growing seems to fade into the mutual vulnerability and affection that is captured here.
Lynn was explaining, in our opening session last night, about the Helikos Tropon, the spiraling process of our growth in faith from the conventional understanding of our childhood (if you "do the right thing" God will take care of you and nothing bad will happen) through pain, darkness, and awakening to the post-conventional, more mystical understanding of the divine that characterizes enlightenment.
And as I listened I realized that I am no longer naive enough to automatically believe that because I am a good and faithful person God will protect my daughter as she travels. So I can't blindly assume that her journey will be a safe one: I can only know that she is a good driver, pray that she will be safe, hope she will make good decisions on the road, and trust that there will be gifts and learnings for both of us in this latest in a lifelong series of separations.
I wish you safe travels, little one, and pray for all the parents and children of the world as we all practice the letting go that growth requires.
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