My Child, IV Reaching for Rainbows

REACHING FOR RAINBOWS

by: Cathryn flowers Ritchie

(On the sixth anniversary of my

firstborn's first willful wail)

I want to encourage my little one. I want to help her as she

Reaches for rainbows, as she grasps for the stars as she

Dances with the sunlight and bursts with life. I want to see her

Spirit soar. I want her to wear her enthusiasm and joy in life

Proudly and learn to 'give her all' to whatever she does.

I never want her to lose the awe that overwhelms her when she

Gazes at the electrical parade or a sunset over Avalon;

That weeps at Pachebel's Canon and treasures simplicity.

I want her to not be ashamed of the burst of joy in her chest

When life seems full and rich and just perfect.

I want her to continue to love without fear, with every fiber of her being.

I want her to not be crippled by her failures and be able to rise up,

Learn and rush on. I want her to love God from the bottom of her heart

And His service give her true joy. I want her to learn to cry with her pain

And forgive when she's wronged, not to turn bitter and cold

When life isn't

'full and rich and just perfect'.

If letting her go and grow independent of me would

Accomplish this I would galdly walk away for years and

Meet her as a 'true woman of substance'.

But at times in her reaching for rainbows I see she wants it

Only for herself and she would only share the stars with her

Favorite friends and only under certain conditions.

At one moment she grasps for beauty but her grasping

Turns selfish and what was headed towards

beauty crashes into ugliness.

I want her to walk confidently, knowing who she is and yet

I fear pride and self-righteiousness will control her.

The willfulness that will help her walk from pain also

Will be her downfull if she refuses to turn her will

To the One who wills.

To direct her will and yet to allow her spirit to soar,

A balance I must reach.

To give too much freedom would

Lead to chaos, yet too much form

would give her no room to grow into

responsible womanhold.

And how do I, whose own will fights me daily

Love her gently and sensitive enough,

Knowing my own anger seeks to control me?

Not wanting to bruise her yet I must wrestle with

that ugly willfullness which relfects so clearly my own?

How Satan uses it; how Satan uses it-

(forgive me, forgive me.)