A few weeks ago, on the way to school, the girls and I took a wrong turn and had to cross under the bridge where the scary men live. Given my childhood fear of under-bridge trolls and adult fear of potentially aggressive drunk men, I was pretty terrified. I had nearly all that was precious with me in my girls, and my usual hero Greg was miles away at work. I felt the power from an adrenaline surge rising.
I remember the first time that the protective surge of adrenaline rose in me. I was 23, and Jordan was 4 months old. We were in a truck stop paying for gas somewhere between Dallas and Houston. Jordan always loved truckers, and was cooing happily at a very large plaid-ish one who was getting dangerously close. He was talking sweetly to her, but the adrenaline assured me that he was interested in acquiring my colicky infant. I remember how the plan flashed in my consciousness in the blink of an eye. If he touched the handle on her carrier, I would grab the beer from the ice barrel, and BAM! With one swift blow to the head, he would fall before me, and truckers everywhere would know not to get too close to my little bald, moon-faced baby girl. Fortunately, that trucker had enough sense to recognize a hormone-crazed new mother and he backed away without incident.
It is not just humans that can cause a threat. When Meryl was two-and-a-half, we were feeding ducks at a lake when an aggressive swan came running up to claim our bread. He was honking and he looked wild with hunger. In a flash, the moldy bag of bread was transformed into a weapon that I swung back and forth before us clearing a a swath of safety. The swan's neck met the bread, and with one swift hard blow, he knew he was defeated. He waddled off in shame, and I yelled irrationally after him as my friends and their kids watched in shock and horror. Soon after the "bread bag incident" the aforementioned swan disappeared, but my family's lawyer (AKA father-in-law) says that I can "neither confirm nor deny" that I had anything to do with his disappearance.
As a woman, I am strong and bold and honest. As a mother, I am (reasonably) firm and (relatively) structured. As a mother whose children are threatened, I am wilder and more ferocious than a tiger in India. Like every good mother I know, a threat to my children brings out the grizzly power of what my friend Jennifer calls "Mama Bear." The force and magnitude of my love for my children frightens even me. I would go any distance and pay any cost to protect them. I would stand between them and a freight train, and I would gladly sacrifice my own life to keep them safe. (I feel a little freaky writing all of this out, but every good mother I know feels the same way. I think it is part of our "hard-wiring.")
As we peddled quickly toward the bridge a few weeks ago, a plan formed in my head. Unlike many mothers, when I hit "fight or flight mode," "flight" is mysteriously missing in me. On this particular day, if threatened, I would become a ninja (with no training whatsoever) and use my bike lock and chain as my weapon of choice. I pictured myself as a slightly older brown version of Cameron Diaz in Charlie's Angels, with less cool clothing, in a bike helmet, and against impaired enemies, but you get the picture. We bravely peddled on through, and the "dangerous" drunks just said a lazy "Good day." The bridge and adrenaline surge passed and I felt a little silly. Is it my skill or mental acuity or physical power that keeps us safe? Honestly, if the safety of my children depends on a nut like me, they are never going to be safe.
As the girls get older, and as I slowly grow more mature and less likely to attack innocent pond animals, I am learning to temper the power of protective adrenaline with trust. Every day, my authority over my children diminishes, and with it, the control that I possess over keeping them safe. Out of necessity, I am learning to entrust them to other people who also love them: their teachers, a few of my trusted friends, and my husband, Greg, who cares for them as much as I do, but in a masculine way. Most of all, when I am unable or absent, I am learning, at a snail's pace, to trust God with their care. I trust God to watch over them because God works everything for their and for my good; his resources are infinitely greater than a beer, bike lock, or a bag of moldy bread. Most of all I trust God to watch over my girls because I have to believe that that God loves Jordan, Meryl, and MJ more wildly and ferociously than I ever will.
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