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"Love
Is Letting Go"
by Claudia
Goodman
There is a poignant
scene from the movie Charly that made a deep impression on my life.
In the film, Charlie had severe mental retardation and was selected
for an operation to improve his intelligence. The operation was
wildly successful as Charlie becomes intellectually keen, only to
learn that the transformation is temporary, and he will slide back
to his former state. Charlie’s sweetheart, when she realized
that in a few months he would slip from her grasp, launched a small
boat fashioned from a piece of wood with a paper sail. As it floated
out on the quiet pond, its ripples mingling with those of the falling
leaves, she said, “Love is letting go.”
My immediate
reaction was, “No! Love is holding on.” My husband and
I had sustained a seven-year courtship and had only been married
a short time. I couldn’t imagine letting go of him for any
reason. I just wanted to hold him tightly forever. Yet as time moved
on, I came to realize more and more that although love definitely
is holding on, more and more, love is also letting go.
Smothered With Love
We had just moved to an outlying area. Our neighbors had several
baby kittens, and our young children played with them by the hour.
One afternoon the children brought me a small baby bird they had
rescued from the cat. It was covered with soft downy feathers and
looked as if it were only one or two days old. Perhaps it had fallen
out of its nest. Our youngest child was only a year old and was
fascinated with the baby bird. We taught her to carefully touch
it with one finger. It was too tiny to pet. Then one morning when
no one was around, she picked up the bird. Lovingly she caressed
it and held it close. When we discovered her clutching it tightly,
we tried to rescue it, but by the time we pried off her clenched
fingers, the bird lay lifeless on the palm of her hand. She had
smothered it to death with love.
How often do
parents smother their children with love? Hopefully, not to death,
but nonetheless, it is easy for us to shower them with so much affection
that they can hardly breathe. Do we realize that it actually is
possible to give them too much attention—not true love, perhaps,
but at least over-concern? The challenge is to find the balance
between protecting them with love while inspiring confidence in
their ability to perform without us.
The Kite Theory
Raising a child successfully is a little like flying a kite. If
we hold onto the string too tightly, the child will never rise more
than a few feet. And very quickly he will nosedive and hit the ground.
On the other hand, if we let out the string too quickly, there won’t
be any pull on the rope. Without being held tight against the wind,
the child will lose direction and drive, and again inevitably he
will take a nosedive and end up on the ground.
The secret is
to let the string out a little at a time. There will be times to
pull back and times to let the string out more quickly, depending
on the direction and strength of the wind. We all know about the
“Terrible Twos,” but maybe we don’t recognize
that the major cause is usually holding the string too tight. Allowing
the child to choose his own clothes within limits (especially when
it isn’t what you had in mind), letting him try to tie his
own shoes (even though it puts you ten minutes late to your meeting),
and inviting him to decide whether he will go to bed now or in two
minutes are a few examples of letting go enough that the child can
soar a little on his own wings. After two years of making almost
every decision for him, suddenly you have to let out lots of string
just to keep him on an even keel.
Other times,
especially in times of high stress, we find ourselves reeling in
the kite as fast as we can. My parents were incredible at giving
me just the right amount of string, and I reached adulthood with
a great deal of confidence and independence. I still felt free to
call on my parents whenever I needed them, but those times became
more and more infrequent. However, after an accident that claimed
the lives of some of our children, I remember calling my mom and
sobbing, “I just need my mother.” She held me like a
little child for hours and soothed away my tears. She must have
pulled my string almost all the way in to keep me in the air that
day.
Sometimes we
have to give our children a little more leeway than they think they
can handle. Our daughter recently thanked us for moving to Arizona.
She explained that she used to come home from BYU almost every weekend,
just because she enjoyed being with our family. Besides, she lived
with her sister at her grandparents’ home. When her sister
left on a mission and we moved, she had to find new paths. On her
own, she found an apartment. A short time later she met her roommate’s
brother, fell in love and married him. If we hadn’t given
her enough string to fly on her own, she never would have met her
husband.
The Super Mom Syndrome
By being sensitive to how much string we let out on our children’s
kites, we can avoid the “super mom syndrome.” Super
moms micro-manage their children’s lives. The biggest super
mom I ever encountered was on a tour we took to Japan many years
ago. Her son was seven or eight. I watched in disbelief at dinner.
She actually put a bib on him and fed him every bite of his dinner
with a spoon! She decided exactly how much he should eat, what he
could wear, whether he needed his sweater or not, how long he could
play, etc. In reality a super mom, without realizing it, is forcing
another human being to be a carbon copy of her own ambitions. She
is depriving a child of the most precious gift Heavenly Father gave
him—free agency. She is deciding for him what he is to become.
As our daughter said, “A super mom is trying to live her child’s
life for him.”
Here are a few
more examples of super moms we have observed over the years: A mother
insisted that her eighteen-year-old daughter miss the study session
with her friends who were studying for a high school AP exam, because
she had found a pair of shoes she thought her daughter had to have
for the upcoming dance. She demanded her to go directly to town
and buy them, even though the daughter didn’t really want
them. A little boy received a very special truck for his birthday.
At his mother’s insistence, he had to share it with all the
other children present, to the point that he didn’t even get
to play with it at all before it broke. A junior high school student
came to drama class in tears. Her hair looked terrible. Her mother
had ended up in the hospital unexpectedly, and she didn’t
know how to fix it herself. A high school senior’s mother
criticized her for not spending “equal time” with her.
She claimed her friends were taking too much of her attention. A
fourteen-year-old boy was grounded for being exactly two minutes
late getting home from school. He had stopped to ask my son a question
about his school work.
All of us are
super moms at times. We can’t help it. Our children are born
completely dependent on us for everything. But if we are not careful,
we become so accustomed to supplying those needs that we don’t
realize they have grown to the point that they can do those things
for themselves. Hence, love is constantly a process of letting go—from
birth through the rest of their lives.
Our daughter
just arrived home from her mission in Germany a couple of weeks
ago. She was only at our home for a week before she had to return
to BYU. After a few days, I realized that I was unintentionally
treating her like I do our fourteen-year-old daughter. I had to
make myself back way off and remind myself that I didn’t need
to check up on her and give her so much advice. She is an adult
now and is used to making her own decisions. In fact, we have found
that once a child leaves home after high school, they come home
almost more as a guest than a child. It is critical to treat them
as we would an adult visiting in the home. For example, we do not
require them to do chores unless they choose to. (You would never
ask a guest to help with the dishes.) Even curfews and letting us
know their plans have to be left a lot more to their discretion
at that point.
Allowing children to learn by their own experience
One of the easiest ways to avoid being a super mom is
to allow children to learn by their own experience. Carol Lynn Pearson’s
profound poem describes this principle beautifully.
The Lesson
By Carol Lyn Pearson
Yes, my fretting,
frowning child.
I could cross
The room to you
More easily
But I’ve already
Learned to walk
So I make you
Come to me.
Let go now—
There!
You see?
O remember
This simple lesson, child,
And when
In later years
You cry out
With tight fists
And tears—
“O help me, God,
Please”—
Just listen
And you will hear
A silent voice:
“I would,
child,
I would,
But it’s you, not I
Who needs to try
Godhood.”
When we see
a butterfly breaking out of a cocoon or a baby chick struggling
to peck its way out of an egg, we can hardly restrain ourselves
from helping it. If we could just unpeel part of the cocoon or break
away a bit of the shell, it would be so much easier. We might even
save its life. However, the experts tell us that if we soften and
assist in the struggle, it spells certain death for the butterfly
or chick that is emerging. Without the struggle, it will never gain
the strength it needs to survive. It must break free on its own.
How often does
the Lord leave us to solve our problems without His direct help?
It’s not because He doesn’t care, but because He does
care! How hard it must have been for Him to watch His beloved Son
suffer untold agony on the cross. Yet, He did not intervene until
the atonement was complete. Our Heavenly Father never micro-manages.
He allows us to exercise our precious gift of free agency. We must
have the strength with our own children to step back enough to allow
them the growth they need to achieve godhood.
Early in our marriage we faced an experience that I appreciate much
more now than when it happened. My husband Steve was taking more
than a full load of summer school classes at BYU. We had already
missed two weeks of school in order to teach at the Ricks College
music camp. Steve was struggling to start the Suzuki violin program
in Utah, but he couldn’t find any information on it. Then
one day he discovered that there was a Suzuki Violin workshop in
Moscow, Idaho with a professor who had studied extensively with
Dr. Suzuki. Both Steve and I had a burning feeling that we needed
to attend it.
There were two
serious complications, however. First, it would mean missing another
week of summer school, which would seriously jeopardize Steve’s
grades, and second, our car was too old to make the trip. The only
way we could go was to borrow Steve’s dad’s car.
Reluctantly
Steve approached his father, who was head of the BYU music department.
His dad felt that missing another week of school would cost Steve
his good reputation with his music professors and make it almost
impossible for him to complete all his summer coursework. In the
end, however, he not only left the decision up to Steve, but also
agreed to let us take his extra car if we decided to go.
Steve and I
agonized over the decision. We had never known his dad’s counsel
to be wrong. Yet we could not ignore the burning feeling we had
about going. At length we decided we had better follow our promptings.
To our amazement, all of Steve’s professors were excited for
him to go and bring back reports to their classes on what he learned,
and Steve’s dad willingly provided us with a car. That conference
became a major turning point in Steve’s career and was one
of the most significant events of our lives.
This experience
illustrates parents who showed their love and concern by offering
wise counsel and then stepped aside to let their children exercise
their own free agency. If Steve’s parents had pressured us
to do things their way, we would have missed one of the most significant
experiences of our lives, and we probably would have resented their
interference for years to come. There are many lessons children
can only learn through experience. We must remember that we can’t
live their lives for them. After we have offered them our best advice,
we need to give them enough slack to try their wings and soar—with
our full support.
Withholding condemnation—opening our arms
Of course the biggest challenge in letting children learn
from their own experience is that sometimes they make mistakes—even
big ones. Just as it is impossible to learn to walk without falling
down a few times, it is inevitable that our children will occasionally
make unwise choices. I’ll never forget the letter my mother
wrote to us when we were first married. She said, “We’ll
only give you counsel if you ask for it. The most important thing
is for you to grow and work with each other—even if you make
a few mistakes. Together you can overcome them and learn from them.”
Even Adam and Eve made a pretty significant mistake. But they held
hands and walked out of the garden together, and their mistake turned
into a great blessing for all of us.
Many years ago
one of our closest friends (we’ll call her Jenny) was seriously
dating a young man who we felt was far beneath her. He had only
recently become semi-active in the church following an extended
period of rebellion. We spent many months trying to convince her
to let him go and find someone else and had almost succeeded. Then
one morning Jenny’s mother came to our house. She told us
that Jenny had decided to marry Tom, in spite of all our efforts.
She then said, “Jenny has made her decision. There’s
nothing more we can do. At least they are getting married in the
temple, even if Tom didn’t serve a mission. Please join with
us in supporting her and celebrating her happiness. It’s so
important for us to be there for her.”
We had never
thought about the matter in that light. Jenny’s mother really
understood the principle that “love is letting go.”
She was willing to let go of her own dreams for her daughter because
she truly loved her. We resolved to do the same. We rejoiced with
Jenny and included her new husband in our friendship. At first they
were very happy, but soon their relationship began to crumble. Tom
stopped going to church, and shortly after their third child was
born he announced that he no longer loved Jenny. Eventually their
marriage ended in divorce, just as we had foreseen. However, as
in the story of the Prodigal Son, there was no reason to say, “Jenny,
we told you this would happen. Why didn’t you listen to us?”
Jenny had learned a very bitter lesson through her own choices and
experience. There was no need to drive home that point. Best of
all, her parents were there with open arms to welcome her back and
comfort her. When she was ready to find her way home, she had someplace
to turn. Because of the loving, nonjudgmental support of her parents,
she was able to heal quickly and is now happily married in the temple
to a wonderful man who loves her and truly honors his priesthood.
Cutting the Apron Strings
When new babies are born, we begin at day one preparing
those children to leave home and live without us. We rejoice in
each small step toward independence—learning to sit alone,
to walk, feed and dress themselves, to read, go to school, drive,
and so on. All too soon the day arrives when they leave for good—hopefully
headed toward a good marriage. The Savior tells us, “Therefore
shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto
his wife: and they shall be one flesh. (Genesis 2:24, italics added)
Once our children
are married, our first responsibility is to strengthen them in their
marriage relationship, not try to pull them back more tightly into
their relationship with us. At that point we need to remain in the
background, ready to offer support and counsel when called on, while
respecting and building confidence in themselves and their own ability
to solve problems.
We would do
well to remember the words of John the Baptist, “He must increase,
but I must decrease.” (John 3:30) Teaching a child to walk
without us is not an act of negligence, but an act of the most profound
love. Of John the Baptist the Savior said, “ …Among
them that are born of women there hath not risen a greater than
John the Baptist: notwithstanding he that is least in the kingdom
of heaven is greater than he.” (Matt. 11:11) In other words,
lifting our children to greatness with an unseen hand is much more
important than insuring our own spot in the limelight of their lives.
Once children
leave home, our training course for them enters a different phase.
Our opportunity to instruct and train them has basically ended.
Our new role is generally to admire, appreciate, and reinforce the
good, not try to convert them to our way of thinking or doing things.
For example, it doesn’t help to say, “When I was at
your sister’s house, her husband took out the trash for her
every day. Maybe your husband ought to do that, too.” Or “After
John and Sarah’s family have prayer, they all join hands and
say, ‘We are a happy family!’ Let’s try it. I
think it might really help your family.” They might be great
ideas, but it is no longer your place to suggest them—only
reinforce the good you see.
One of our children
shared with me the observations of a perplexed son-in-law who had
confided in him. His mother-in-law insisted that all the family
come to dinner for father’s day, to honor his wife’s
father. (She had not even considered the fact that he was also a
father.) He was frustrated because they had spent the last three
holidays with his wife’s family at his mother-in-law’s
insistence, leaving his own widowed mother home alone. When the
appointed day arrived, his wife awoke feeling ill. They called to
explain the circumstances, and the mother-in-law was so insulted
that she hung up on them, shouting, “You don’t even
love your father!” She refused to speak to them for two weeks.
Trying to force increased loyalty to parents after marriage only
destroys it.
One of the best
examples of letting go I have seen was a mother who was helping
clean up the kitchen after a big family gathering at her daughter’s
home. She asked where the bucket was so she could mop the floor.
The daughter replied, “Oh, I don’t have a bucket. I
just rinse out the mop in the sink.” The mother was stunned
and horrified, but quickly recovering, she responded, “Okay.
I’ve never done it that way before. Where’s the mop?”
Wise mother! It wasn’t her house, and she respected the stewardship
of her daughter. Probably a few germs in the sink wouldn’t
kill anyone!
When one of
our daughters who lived away had her first baby, she invited me
to come out and help her. I had planned to arrive the day after
the baby was born, but the baby was late, and my daughter was so
miserable that I decided I could probably be of more service before
the baby came. We spent a few wonderful days together, and the baby
finally arrived in its own due time. I spent a day or two giving
suggestions, admiring the baby, and reassuring them, but by the
afternoon of the second day, I could see that I had given them enough
help to get over the hump. Now they needed some space to try my
suggestions, discard a lot of them, and find their own ways to deal
with a baby that was their stewardship, not mine. I announced that
I was leaving early the next morning. They were surprised and begged
me to stay longer, but by the time I left, I’m sure they were
both relieved. They needed some time to themselves, to bond and
to find their own ways to build their family.
Constantly adjusting the kite string
Life is a series of events that require constantly adjusting
the tension on the kite string. Sometime we may have to reel in
quickly or let out more string without warning to save a child from
taking a serious nosedive. But overall our goal is to guide the
child as we let out more and more string—until finally at
last he can fly far beyond our own limits and soar the heavens.
While love is holding on until the child is steady, in the ultimate
sense, to find a fullness of joy, indeed “love is letting
go!”
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