| LifeTakes |

Ready

By Russy Tendler | February 3, 2021

And it hits me then: my children are ready because they believe they’re ready

Photo: Russy Tendler

Recently the baby has taken to packing a little bag, slinging it over her shoulder, and heading toward the door to the driveway.

“Ready,” she calls over her shoulder.

We laugh at her pretentiousness and wonder how she got big so quickly.

“Ready,” she calls again, and she picks up her little bear to bring along on her imagined journey.

We laugh again, and this time I grab my camera, forever eager to capture these little memories that speak of the innocence childhood holds.

“Ready, ready,” she’s repeating, and her words accompany her steps, her pajamas rolled high on one leg and her sagging diaper the last hint of the nap from which she’s only just awoken.

I need to grab her then, before she does actually head further down our driveway and into the danger of the busy street that lies at the foot of it. Of course, she isn’t happy to be grabbed, and her “ready” quickly turns to loud and angry wails, as she kicks and wriggles her way back up the driveway in my arms.

I think of her readiness, packed in her little bag, complete with paint markers and any other forgotten toys she’s found strewn around the playroom, and I marvel at her contentment and her faith in herself and in the world. I want to know what the secret is so that I can keep it intact. I want to find it so I can safeguard it for her, and for myself, too.

She is ready, I realize. They all are. And it hits me then: my children are ready because they believe they’re ready. They’re ready for all the small disappointments from which I want so badly to protect them; they’re ready for the little and not-so-little surprises that each day will send their way. They’re ready for growth and for struggle, they’re ready to be hungry and thirsty and they’re ready to cross the street. They’re ready to carry their own bags (well, at least some of the time) and to read the map, to look for guidance when they’ll need it.

They’re ready, and they know it. They’re ready because they know it. And when I’m honest, I can admit that it’s only my fear and my doubts and my jumping prematurely into the future that have me convinced they’re not, or I’m not.

“I’m coming,” I’m tempted to say. “I’m coming with you… I just have to pack one more bag. I’m still not sure I have everything I’ll need.”

But their impatience asks more of me, their readiness demands more of me. Because until I’m ready too, I can’t accompany them. Until I believe in the simplicity of the journey and have faith in my own inner fortitude and that of my children, I can’t even wave goodbye to them as they dip their toes in the vast world that waits at the edge of the driveway.

I’m trying to leave behind all the baggage, to recognize that a little tote filled with essentials is all I need. The paint markers are enough to color the world in potential, the clunky play phone is my lifeline to a Higher Power. I don’t even need a little bear; I have His hand to cling to instead.

I want to square my shoulders and sling my small bag over them, to look inward and outward, recognizing the strength within and without, the resilience that will keep our ambition unscathed. I’m trying to remember that I can’t know the journey until I’m actually on it, and that only once I am can Divine assistance direct me.

“Ready,” she’s calling, her emphasis on the “d.”

“Ready,” she’s saying, and she means it this time. Something tells me the driveway isn’t going to cut it today, she’s wanting more. But that’s okay, because this time I’m ready too.

“Ready,” I answer her, and my emphasis is on the One who makes me so.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 729)

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