For hours upon hours, I would rock-a-bye my babies, all the while singing my own version of my grandmother’s German Hobby Horse song or the “Bye-Oh-Bye” song as my mother sang to me. Long into the nights when upset tummies and earaches prevented little ones from comfortably relaxing into a deep sleep, we rocked together. The “Bye-Oh-Bye” melody has a total of 3 different words. Yet, this simple song, combined with a mother’s voice and arms comforted and soothed both my children and grandchildren. I have listened to these wee ones (even my boy babies) while they sang and rocked their “babies” while their entire little bodies tried so hard to get the big wooden rocker to move back and forth.
Holding my children tight against me, we rocked until they were deep into their dreams. So safe in my arms, I could guide them into a peaceful sleep, protecting them from harm and keeping their nightmares away.
Then came a time in each child’s life when the rocking chair became quiet and my arms had to let go.
From the time a young child goes away to their first sleep-over to the first time the newly licensed teenager backs out of the driveway while we wave with a nervous smile; we begin to release our children.
The day came when each daughter walked down the aisle to her awaiting bridegroom. The question was asked before her hand became his “Who, then, gives this woman away?” From the shelter of my arms to this man who gazed with love into her eyes, I hoped his arms would take over where my mine had stopped.
I am remembering a son as he ran into my arms as he raced through the front door after being teased and tripped by mean-spirited bullies all the way home from school, only to release him with a kiss the next morning as he faced yet another day of fears and unknown trouble. For the son who sat on the bench the entire game and was down-heartened as he walked to the car with his head down. All I could do was to reach over to put my arm around his shoulder and squeeze tightly. When a family pet died, I was there to hold my child until her tears finally ceased to flow.
After being there to love, to comfort and to protect my children, there came the moments when my arms no longer could reach out and hold them close in times of trouble. Those were the darkest of days where my arms ached to hold my children but only could wrap my arms around myself to try and quiet my own fears, my own disparity. My child was out of my reach, beyond my hold…. She was at the other end of a pay phone crying that someone was chasing her in the midnight hour, screaming out to me but not revealing where she was….. I couldn’t find her no matter how fast I drove…. And then, there he was before me with both his arms and feet shackled as he was escorted out of the courtroom to begin his years behind prison walls… and I couldn’t jump out of my seat and hug him one last time to tell him everything would be OK. I could not. And I cried for I didn’t believe I could endure this deep, black worry that was choking me and taking my breath.
From my arms, to yours Lord. Only You can go with them all the days of their lives. And I am comforted….. For your arms are stronger than mine.
The eternal God is your refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms.
(Deuteronomy 33:27)
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