It was rumored that, at some point, the bridge had railings and so was at least 95% safer than it was looking yesterday. Turns out the railings may have given it the appearance of safety but they would have been misleading...
Months ago we decided we wanted to have some way to mark the transition from the Nursery/Preschool room to the Elementary Age classroom. In preliminary discussion someone brought up a certain concern and I said, "Let's cross that bridge when we get to it." (Jeezee chreezee, I say that a lot. There is a lot of water under my bridges but I expect to keep coming to bridges and crossing them.) She tabled her initial concern and turned the discussion toward a little bridge, a real bridge of wood and woodscrews, somewhere in the attic. "Let's get it down," she said. "Let's use it." The idea was to invite each child to walk across the stage, commencement style. We would add the bridge as an extra element, a simple symbol and have a little fun.
I will admit here and now that if I know one thing about Children's Ministry it is just this: the moment you think you're about to do something just for the fun of it, you've crossed over into dangerous territory. The fun thing usually turns out to be the thing that begins to shore us up with fresh energy with which we actually engage in the event and that is when miracles may be witnessed, amigos. When we look back it is more often than not the fun thing that rises like a flare and explodes with meaning, pointing us back to the moments we ought not neglect.
The bridge was laid of fencing slats, just wide enough for a 5 year old foot to balance upon with space between each slat big enough for such a tiny foot to slip right through. Moreover it was waist high to most of them at its crest. It rose up from the floor in front of the altar like a perfect half circle and they approached it the way they would offer fearful reverence to the ladder behind their new favorite slide. We practiced. They lined up and took turns while their parents rallied amid the pre-service hymnsing.
One bird took off her new orange flower flip flops and left them on the yellow decorative tulle flanking the baptismal font. Earlier that morning she had told her mother this was the most important day of her life. She looked in my face, smiled with her eyes and told me, "I want to do it by myself."
"I'll be here if you fall." I told her and stayed close.
A little boy approached, considered climbing up on all fours. He changed his mind, balanced carefully arms outstretched like the cross behind us and stopped at the top for just a moment. He was suddenly three feet taller and decided to take advantage of this grown up perspective on the sanctuary. When he was done looking around he jumped off, sticking the landing with a thud of sneakers on hardwood.
The next little one took my hand like the daughter of the king and looked down at her feet. She considered where to put each toe and whether it was safe to put her weight down. She stopped before the descent and considered the consequences, should her satin slipper slip. I offered, "I can help you down, my dear." And she accepted by nodding and smiling a smile full of five year old grace and dignity.
Even with the mild chaos that ensued when we invited all their friends, siblings, parents, and teachers up to share the stage they bravely ascended and crossed over to be greeted and welcomed by their elders in faith. I don't know if any of the congregants' blood pressure rose as they watched those little ones carefully, joyously and almost expertly crossing the bridge. I don't know if they were afraid the little ones would fall off and break an arm. I was, at first. But as I watched their little bodies rise on strong legs and strength of will I knew I would not be able to keep them from getting hurt, from falling or failure or anything else in the future.
It's commencement season. And whether you're crossing a stage or not, commencement season is a reminder that circumstances change, people change, life asks us to cross over from one place to the next. We will either go bravely or we won't. We will rush through it, take it all on at once, force ourselves, or we won't. Sometimes we can ignore the meaning in the moments, sometimes we can't. There is no wrong way, but there are choices to make and responsibility to take.
Soon enough I will put on my high heel lady shoes, climb the stairs toward the president, faculty and deans of my graduate school and, even though I told them, "I think I can do this," there is no telling what will happen. I may very well reach out to shake their hands one last time and feel a flood of relief that I didn't have to do it alone.
I've been shaking a lot of hands lately. It isn't easy. Sometimes I just want a familiar face or even just to keep to myself.
Sometimes, just when I am sure I couldn't possibly greet another new face with confidence and a firm grip, just when I think I should be able to be or do on my own, I have to reach out. In those moments I have been reminded that a handshake is a lot like a hand to hold. As soon as I want to shrink back from the forced greetings and scary meetings I have to wonder what good might come if I just reach out my hand. There is a way for the shaking hands to stop the shaking, quaking legs I am standing on... but I don't think I'll ever get to know that way of steady if I can always balance on my own.
Many times I've explained to the families of 5 year olds that it is okay to set expectations a little lower and to take it slow; there are lots of scary things coming up in the near future: torrents of emotion, a deluge of cultural expectations and the raging, rapid influx of adaptations to make or at least consider making... And though I could very well be describing a move across the country, I'm really just describing the first day of kindergarten. There will be lots of bridges and lots of troubled water to cross and lots of times it will be safer to have a friend nearby and take it slow.
My best plan today is to hold hands with friends, shake hands with enemies, and cross the bridges bravely... not all at once but bravely and only as I come to them.
