Comfort

Thomas is our boy who resists doing anything new, so I was very happy when he agreed to practice riding a bike without training wheels. Sure enough, he pedaled hard, so he's almost ready to go it alone; he just has to be able to brake and stop by himself. So that's what we practiced: stopping without falling down.

I'm used to running around for basketball, but for some reason his starts and stops and near-crashes quickly had me winded!

After a number of tries, he started saying that he wanted to do it by himself. He's quite ready to pedal by himself, and maybe I should have allowed him to go and see for himself what happens at the end. But I said I'd help start and push him ONLY if we practice stopping, too; if he wanted me to totally let him go, then I would also let him get started all by himself. He kept asking, so I let him do it all by himself. He struggled to get on the bike, but he fell; I cushioned his fall, but he put his face down on the cement and balled. I sat down next to him. We just sat there for a minute while he wailed. He took his time and yelled for the sympathy of anyone nearby, spilling tears on the driveway.

Then he moved over to get next to me, curled up on his side, put his head in my lap, and went quiet. I put my hand on his shoulder. And we just sat for a while. The sky was overcast and a breeze was blowing, cool but comfortable here as we're emerging from winter. I hope I'll never lose that snapshot of us sitting there, with nobody else nearby... everything still and silent except for the company of the winter wind.

What a marvellous thing, to be trusted as a source of comfort!