Escorts

I have a house full of ponytails.  Long, beautiful hair, held back off their faces, sways through my house much of the day.  It is, for sure, a vibrant, dynamic season for our family.
Early this morning, before the sun rose, one of those ponytails needed a ride.  She rows for the crew team.  Our first experience with crew, Hannah is the perfect fit for such a sport.  While it was a last minute decision for her to join crew, it has been one of the best decisions made in this house over the past few years.  Of course we've made some really good ones all along the way ...some poor ones too.  But Hannah and crew is like a great marriage ...it suits her ...really well.
One day last week, in a remote rocky nook on the bay, I looked up to see the shell gliding across the glassy water.  At first, I'd heard voices and couldn't figure where they were coming from and then I saw the boats.  I wasn't there to catch a glimpse; it didn't even cross my mind.  So it felt like a tiny little grace showered down.  I grabbed the binoculars kept in the shed.  Hannah had just been moved to a more competitive boat.  It hadn't come easy and she'd thrown herself into improving her times.  Her new spot had been hard earned.  Lens held to my eyes, I found her.  It caught my breadth; tears spilled.  My Hannah, stroking in perfect rhythm, gliding across the bay, far from where they'd launched.
All parents have their moments overcome with amazement at their child, for their child.  Many parents carry worries and burdens not shared with public ...or anyone at all. That's the life of a parent.  For obvious reasons, I live with a certain worry for each of my kids.  Having three teenage girls right now has called upon a level of trust in God beyond anything I'd ever imagined.  I lost a teenage girl ...a wonderfully vibrant, genuine girl.  Do I fear another?  Of course I do.  Do I know the price they've paid, the taunts they've been dealt, the rejection of people they thought close?  Some of it.  I'm keenly aware my kids have been given a walk few others experience.  And they walk it with tremendous grace, humor and forgiveness.  I am proud of them in all sorts of ways
So when I see my girls (or any of my kids) 'arrive', so to speak, at something that fits them perfectly, I experience a deep gratitude for that miracle.  Because it is in these places they can experience their life, fully and freely ...and it has little to do with the death of their big sister.  Crew is such an arrival point for Hannah.
I had to jump through a few hoops to get to her regatta ... almost certain it wouldn't happen.  But it did, and I got to watch her glide across the river with her crew mates, as novice rowers, to cinch  third place in their race.  I got to watch them take their boat from the water and huddle with their coach to review how they raced.  It was a magical day with beautiful weather and so many other people cheering each others kids on.  Another mom whose daughter shares the same boat found her way next to me, just as the girls were rowing by.  We laughed without talking, the smiles and eyes communicating all of it.  Both mom's of seven, we know the hurdles it took to get there on a Sunday morning ...the work of it, the logistics ...the miracle ...the gratitude.
I left the river, the races done.  Hannah would take the bus home with her team, call me when she got close to home.  At 4:40 she called.  I could hear elation in her voice, "We won states Mom ...we won!"  Even now, writing these words, I fight back the tears ...to hear her voice, the pure joy of it, the fullness of her life and the reward of hard, hard work.  My Hannah.
I drove to the high school finding other parents as smiley as me.  And then in the distance I could hear the sirens.  They grew closer until finally we could see the flash of lights, escorting the winners home.  Led by the boat truck, three busloads of teenage kids, spilling out the windows, ecstatic ...waving and smiling and yelling ...to their parents.  Flanked by the police and fire, our kids, Hannah, were escorted from the highway exit (about five miles away!) back to the high school, the sirens blaring.  I caught it all on my phone.
Hannah floated off the bus, medal around her neck and leaned in close..."I'm so glad you were there Mom."  And I was too.  I fight the tears, not wanting her to know the bittersweet moment.
Three years ago, the first and last police escort Hannah and I had ever ridden in delivered us to our church 45 minutes away for Phoebe's funeral, and then back again.  On the highway overpasses firetrucks parked with sirens and lights, a nod to my husband, Phoebe's dad, knowing he would bury his oldest daughter.  The highway was closed as police cut off the on ramps, saluting her as she was driven by, us following.  It was a long, sad ride.  I'd imagined her, ahead of us, riding her skateboard, free and wild, embracing the empty highway ...all hers.
We have a new ride now, Hannah's ride, her escort.  A nod from her big sister, I think.
Without words I show the video to my friend ...a chance meeting at the hospital as I visit another friend, I stop by to see her in her department.  She watches ...and knows, echoes my thoughts ...sees the gift.  No words ...just pure grace, shared later again with two dear friends who truly know what that escort meant for Hannah.  The gift is confirmed ..with amazing awe.
We cannot rewrite this life, but we can write new chapters ...every day!  Because God does make all things new, if only we let Him. 
It was Hannah's day.  My Hannah.