My daughter loves to swing. Like, loves it. Doesn’t care about baby dolls or bicycles. She just wants to swing. Look at that joy!

She’ll swing for as long as you’ll let her. And as high as she possibly can. Holy moly.

And it terrifies me. I watch her go up, up, up, higher and higher, and an Oscar-caliber disaster film plays in my head. She loses her grip, tumbles backwards, and breaks her neck. That is, if she even survives. I imagine ambulances and lots of blood. I’m telling you, it’s scary stuff.

It takes all of my willpower to not tell her to slow down, stay lower. I avert my eyes each time I’m about to say “be careful”. I can’t even watch. I am filled with fear.

She’s not. She’s free and having fun. She’s not unaware. We’ve talked about safety and she understands the risk, but she doesn’t let it hold her back. How beautiful is that. She’s embraced the adventure. And that’s who I want her to be. I want her to take risks and chase dreams, be smart and use her brains to accomplish big things. Like touching the top of a tree. Like serving in a foreign land. Like being a good friend. But I also want her safe and protected and whole. She’s my child. There’s such tension there. Being a parent isn’t for sissies.

But I have to remember she’s God’s child more. If I’m going to witness her bloom into her amazing potential, then I need to trust in his mighty protection.

“He is my loving ally and my fortress, my tower of safety, my rescuer. He is my shield, and I take refuge in him.” ‭Psalms‬ ‭144‬:‭2‬ NLT

She won’t be the amazing woman she can be if I’m always telling her to play it safe. So for her sake, and mine, I have to get over my fear and let her fly.

If you want to fly high, my baby girl has a tip for you.

“Close your eyes!”

Sometimes you just have to close your eyes and jump.