If anyone hurts Isaac, I'll buy a gun and shoot them. If a random act of nature hurts Isaac, I'll buy a gun and shoot it...tornado, tsunami, whatever.
I like saying and thinking these things because it makes me feel more in control. But, really, the more years I tack onto my life, the less control I have. I can't protect Isaac from everything, just like I can't protect Ryan or my sister or my mom or anyone else from everything.
Focusing on these fears is the exact opposite of freedom and joy, which are the two things I crave the most in life. And what if I do protect Isaac from every psychopath and killer whale, but fail to show him how to enjoy life? His little baby face expresses so much potential joy.
Fear sucks. Or, much more poetically spoken...
"Cry, the beloved country, for the unborn child that is the inheritor of our fear. Let him not love the earth too deeply. Let him not laugh too gladly when the water runs through his fingers, nor stand too silent when the setting sun makes red the veld with fire. Let him not be too moved when the birds of his land are singing, nor give too much of his heart to a mountain or a valley. For fear will rob him of all if he gives too much."
That quote is from one of my favorite books, "Cry, the Beloved Country" by Alan Paton. The narrator is speaking of the pain and suffering of South Africa, but it translates beautifully for any situation ruled by fear. I don't want Isaac to inherit my fears, the main ones being that the people I love will be hurt in some way (What if Isaac gets hit in the head really hard with a baseball and is brain injured?) and that there is no life after this one.
Then, of course, there is the endless stream of "what if?" fears. This stream is so ever-flowing that it's impossible to know where one fear ends and one begins.
But when I see Isaac's face brighten when he sees me pick him up in his crib, I don't want to rob him of his natural joy. Yes, I have to teach him that the world can be dangerous and how he can be safe in it, but I also want him to see mountains and think, "Yeah, I can climb that." I want him to know that while there is pain and loss, there is no reason not to love or be loved.
