I stared at our navy and white striped umbrella sunk deep into the damp sand providing a circle of shade and protection from the early summer heat. The wind whipped it and shook it and yet it didn't move. I looked at it and thought of my mothering, and that the umbrella must be a metaphor for all that I am and do. I must provide all protection and never waver in the storm, and my presence must stand deep, strong and firm, and there is no room for me to venture into any calling beyond that one rooted space.
And within minutes of that narrow and restrictive and formulaic thought, the wind took my umbrella down the beach, twisting and turning at the mercy of unseen forces. And the Voice whispered deep in my spirit, "You are not Me for your children. That is my job."
And I repented and I relaxed and I smiled the way that you do when freedom blows you hard and your spirit flies free.