My Son

Here he is again, at cliff’s
edge
surveying his future.
As he has grown we often have been here
together.
I have cradled him
held him high on my shoulders
and held his hand.
How many times I have sprinted to
intercept his approach with outstretched arms
hoping to prevent, to protect, to shelter.
I know if he steps now he could
fall.
I think if he will stop, learn, listen and wait
he could fly.
But as of late my guardian wings have turned
to wired barbs
he strains against them
and it hurts.
He wants to jump.
So today I throw out my arms again
this time not to save him but to
restrain myself.
I lean on faith
and pray and hope and cry out
this also hurts.
And then I remember there is One who knew
him before he was mine;
who loves him more than I
(if such a thing is possible),
who can do from His position what I cannot:
Catch.