I don’t think it’s a fluke that the superhero Elastigirl (she of Incredibles fame) is a mother. The longer I’ve lived with small humans in my care, the more I find myself in need of superhuman elasticity and flexibility, not to mention arms that stretch to the faraway (and, dare I say, dangerous) places my children fly off to.
***
It was the second day of summer. I was in possession of color-coded calendars and grand visions detailing how we’d strike a balance between structure and play, how we’d avoid the summer slump by filling out reading charts and doing math practice (disguised as fun games, of course!). We’d conquer potty-training and go on adventures and spend quality family time together (and yes, I’d get my work done somewhere in there too).
By day 2, the lists and charts had melted like yesterday’s ice cream on the sidewalk.
“Can we go outside and play?” my boys begged.
I agreed, on the condition that they play in the front yard while I worked on the stoop. “Make sure you stay where I can see you,” I instructed. What I didn’t say: Within the reach of my Elastigirl arms.
It wasn’t long before they rustled up some bungee cords from the garage and rigged the Burley to Graham’s bike. Pretty ingenious, I thought. This wasn’t on the Official Summer Plans list, but there were probably some STEM-adjacent benefits, right?
Seconds later, I looked up. To my horror, the Burley, now disconnected from Graham’s bike, was careening down the driveway . . . with Milo in it.
I threw my laptop across the porch and sprinted like my flip-flops were on fire.
By now the Burley was at the end of the driveway and heading into the road, racing downhill and picking up speed by the second.
As my legs churned, so did my mind, conjuring up every worst-case scenario, from the Burley toppling and my three-year-old spilling onto the asphalt to an untimely collision with an Amazon truck.
At last, my arms reached the handle of the Burley. My chest was heaving so hard I could barely speak, but I blubbered some incoherencies while kissing my son. He just grinned up at me, eyes sparkling with the thrill of his at-home Six Flags adventure.
After making the trek back to the house (and offering abashed nods to the gawking neighbors), I collapsed onto the stoop.
“Let’s do it again!” my six-year-old exclaimed.
When I shot down that idea, he stated emphatically that he was going to live somewhere else—preferably a house with fewer rules.
“Is that right? Where would you want to live?”
“I don’t know,” he sulked. “Probably Australia!”
***
If only for those elastic arms that would allow my body to here and my arms to be there.
How often I wish I could be in more than one place at once—at work and at home, playing with my kids and making dinner, being productive and resting. But these limits we’ve been given—our limited bodies, our limited time, our limited capacity—they’re an essential part of what makes us human.
And as much as I strain against these boundaries, they really are a form of grace. They remind me that I can’t do everything, that I can’t be everywhere at once, that my arms don’t hold the world together. This is at once disappointing and freeing.
Knowing I can only do so much invites me to trust the one who can do everything and be everywhere. The one whose arms are strong and everlasting. Not to mention super-stretchy.
And so I’m trying to accept my ordinary arms, along with the limits I’ve been given. May I see them not as restrictive, but as pleasant—delightful, even.
The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; surely I have a delightful inheritance.
Psalm 16:6
When my arms are too short and not as elastic as I would like, when my grand summer plans melt away, may I find the sweetness in these boundary lines. May I accept the gift of not being responsible for holding the earth on its axis. And may I entrust my children to the one who created them and can catch them when I can’t.
A Benediction for Summer
There is no one like the God of Israel.
Deuteronomy 33:26-27
He rides across the heavens* to help you,
across the skies in majestic splendor.
The eternal God is your refuge,
and his everlasting arms are under you.
Not having seen the Incredibles (incredible in itself), I admit ignorance of Elastigirl, but what a perfect metaphor for a mother! I shuddered as you narrated Milo’s hurtle down the driveway – as a parent I can so relate. (And when your kids are grown, you’ll find out about all the risks they took when you weren’t around.) I recall Beth Moore saying in one of her videos decades ago that God is never more surely with our children than when we are not. That has comforted me many times, including now that ours are grown with littles of their own.. I always look forward to your thoughtful reflections, Stephanie, and especially seeing photos of Graham and Milo. How absolutely fitting that they love to bike like their daddy!
What a comforting reminder–from you and Beth both! Thank you for the encouragement!
There is always that pull between planning and free-for-all, between protecting and allowing. Thanks for the reminder that no matter what they are in the arms of the one who made them and loves them even more than you do. Keep trusting and trying.
You have lived this truth, Nancy! I like how you put it: the pull between planning and free-for-all!