LETTING GO

                                              LETTING GO

    The call came this morning. "Mom, I got the job as an investigator."

    My heart sank as I gripped the phone. Jeremy had applied to a Federal Agency 19 months earlier, and had anxiously awaited a reply. Now it had come--the dreaded call. At least it was for me--knowing the imminent danger involved in accepting this position.

    Around the lump in my throat I managed to speak. "Son, it looks like I will need to snap up  a few more angels."

    "Snapping up angels" originated when my flaxen-haired toddler was three. As I tucked him in bed each night, Jeremy, fearing what might be lurking in the darkness, would ask me to put angels around his bed. After asking God to calm my little boy, I would snap my fingers five times, then place an angel on each post and one above the bed. Soon he was fast asleep.

    Jeremy's quest for danger began before kindergarten. Mesmerized by shows such as "The Dukes of Hazzard," "The A-Team," and "C.H.I.P.S.," my flaxen-haired son developed an unwavering desire to become a cop.

    By age five the matter was clearly settled. We were sitting around the table and I was  folding laundry. Jeremy looked up to ask, "Can I help?" I passed him several towels, warm from the dryer, and smiled as my little boy, a sprinkling of freckles across his nose, held his mouth just right and meticulously folded each towel. Carefully, but quickly he neatly added more to the growing stack.

    "Son, you did a great job!" I bragged.

    He narrowed his eyes. "Mom, where could ya get a job doing this?"

    The only place I could think of which might need "towel folders" was a local motel. "I imagine that Quality Inn could use help folding their laundry."

    Jeremy squinted his eyes in concentration. "But, Mom--Can ya have two jobs?"

    "Yes--if you work your schedule just right. Why?"

    Jeremy looked me in the eye and puffed out his chest, to announce, "Because I want to be a cop--and I want to fold towels for Quality Inn."

    Bringing my thoughts back to the present, this foreboding instrument of bad news pressed against my ear, I inhaled deeply to quiet the tumultuous thoughts swirling through my head. Reading my mind, Jeremy started assuring me that the new job was no more dangerous than his current one as a police officer in Lexington. Even then, he had been in a couple of close calls--including a domestic violence dispute where a bullet had grazed his arm.

    Jeremy worked the afternoon shift. Many nights I had lain awake for some unexplainable reason, only to receive news the following day of the danger he had been in the night before. On those sleepless nights I learned to pray for God to send extra angels to protect him.

    As I pondered these things, memories flooded back--memories of a golden-haired toddler, who knowing I was unhappy with my slightly-hooked nose, asked Santa to bring me a new one. Visuals of Saturday mornings ,when after a tedious week, I awoke to the beaming face of an eight-year-old bearing a breakfast tray and coaxing, "Wake up, Mom, it's time for breakfast!"

    Why do children pop out of bed so early on Saturday mornings when it takes a crane to drag them out during the week?

    Jeremy grinned from ear to ear, ready to serve his "secret recipe." Generously-buttered toast slathered with grape jelly, and microwaved to perfection, then placed on a tray alongside a tall glass of either chocolate milk or orange juice. The meal was always delicious, but oh so-o-o- rich.

    Suddenly words blaring from the receiver interrupted my musings, jolting me back to the here and now. ".....will be stationed in Texas."

    "What? Texas? " No way! I was horrified. Staring into the receiver, I strangled it in disbelief. A human being would not have survived the clench. In a effort to gain self control, I softly replaced the offending thing against my ear and slowly, but firmly stated, "You can NOT go! Why, that's hundreds of miles from here."

    Jeremy emitted the throaty laugh that has always been a part of him. "Sorry, Mom--too late. Oh, it's about ten miles from the Mexico border."

    This was entirely too much information; it did nothing to console me. The distance had been the worst part--until now. I was beginning to see the truth in the old adage, "Ignorance is bliss."

    I regressed again. My thoughts wandered back to the unmeasured risks Jeremy had taken as a child--his creative genius in erecting a ramp with a concrete block and an old 1x 6 board, to plunge his bicycle up and off into the wild, blue, yonder. Those Evel Knevel feats left him with skinned knees and scraped elbows, and me nursing a nervous breakdown.

    I relived the tender moments when, forced to bed with a migraine, I awoke to small hands gently, but securely, tucking the covers in around me (on all sides) to form a cocoon so snug that it would have obstructed a mighty monarch. (I never knew whether this was done as a loving gesture, or as a childish prank.)

    Later, I enrolled in a night class at the local college. Knowing the hours I had stressed over the final exam, Jeremy cheered me on. "You can do it, Mom!" When I opened my binder in the classroom, these huge words scrawled in a child's hand, jumped off the page. "Good luck. I love you, Mom."

My heart warmed because he was rooting for me. I aced the test. Even today as I attempt a writing career, Jeremy provides moral support and encouragement.

      "So doesn't he deserve the same from you?"

      Now where had that come from? Knowing well where it had come from, I closed my eyes, and prayey, "Lord, you know that Jeremy's new job--and him stationed next to the Mexico border, is dangerous. How can I handle this?"

    Immediately, a quiet voice whispered, "Just let go. Do you not think that I can watch over your son in Texas, as well as in Kentucky?"

    "Of course you can watch over him, Lord. Thank you for reminding me once again that you are omnipotent AND omnipresent." With a deep sigh, I placed my child in His capable hands.

    After adding a prayer for my son's ultimate protection--protection that only the Heavenly Father can provide--I released Jeremy into His care.

    Then, with a calm only God can give, I spoke those words into the receiver that he longed to hear, "I love you, Son--and I know you can do it. But..... wouldn't you rather fold towels for Quality Inn?"

    After all--it never hurts for a mother to ask.