God yearns for our flourishing.~Eugene Cho

My mother expected a lot from me sometimes. She'd drop me off at the new school and smile, "Have a good day. See you at three." I longed for her to come into the school with me. I didn't know my way around. I was eight. I could feel my heart beating with anxiety. I hadn't yet sat under the tutelage of Mr. Rogers' wisdom that whispered, "When you don't know where to go or what to do, look for the helpers." A helper did arrive, a friendly teacher who found me wandering the halls. I did know my new teacher's name. The kind helper grabbed my hand and led me to my classroom. I felt relieved to find an empty desk, students still milling around in the chaos of the the first day of school. I wasn't late. My heartbeat slowed. I'd already memorized how to get to the new classroom. Tomorrow would be less scary.

Other times, my mother took me to places I liked to go. She stayed with me. One of our favorite locations was a park near our home. We could walk there. Giant oak trees shaded picnic tables situated on green, hilly knolls. We'd put our sack lunches on a picnic table and my mother would say, "Let's go swing." She'd exclaim, "Let's go really high!" I remember the dip in my stomach when I'd plummet down from that vast blue sky on those days with my mother. I loved to hear my mother laugh. I loved that she liked to swing too. Eventually, she'd make her way back to the picnic table, I could see her leaning back, elbows on the table, her face tipped up toward the sun.