Heights and Hopes

Suspension bridges and I have a history. 

When we were here exactly a year ago for what we thought was a 'once in a lifetime' vacation up in Whistler, we had an entire day to fill before our shuttle to Vancouver picked us up.  Since we had no ski school or lift tickets and since I operate by the 'squeeze every moment out of a new place' mantra, I booked a tour called "Tree Trek".  The brochure looked enchanting - and since we'd gotten 18" of snow the previous night, I had it worked out in my head that we'd be playing Swiss Family Robinson meets Narnia as we explored through snow covered trees connected not by land but by suspension bridges.  I was thrilled.  We checked in for our tour, loaded up on the shuttle bus and got dropped off in a snow covered area that hadn't even seen its first footprints.  We started walking through the woods and I really felt like a Queen of Narnia who had just stumbled through the magic wardrobe. 

Narnia indeed

 

Then, we got to the first bridge - about 20 feet long, but about 65 feet off the ground and my feeling of royalty disappeared.  For the first time, I realized that becoming a mother did more to my psyche than I realized.  My knees grew weak, my mouth grew dry, my heart started pounding and my head started swimming.  I was scared.  Not just creepy movie scared, but that down to your bones what-have-I-done kind of scared.  I saw the bridge and immediately the images of my children falling to the ground (which may as well have been miles below) or the bridge snapping or the platforms in the branches where we stood to learn about the great fir trees falling from underneath us started flooding my brain.

 Walking down to a platform - notice hand firmly on wooden railing...

Walking UP to a platform - notice no solid ground in sight...

 

I couldn't believe myself - heights had never played with me before - in fact, I quite liked seeing the world from a different perspective; clearly, not anymore.  The tour guide explained at one point that we were almost 120 feet above the ground and I almost threw up.  He went on about temperate rain forests and shared, what I assume, were many interesting facts about ecology and our relationship as humans to the environment.  I only heard about every third sentence as I was repeating to myself things like, "They wouldn't sell tickets to families if this weren't safe," or "People have to inspect these bridges and platforms for safety or the tour company wouldn't take on the liability," or "Monitor your reaction because Henry & Lydia will take their lead from you."  I've never participated in self-talk this intensely in my life. 

Commence self-talk

 

And then Lydia thought it funny to jump on these snowy death traps and I flipped my lid [a little, or maybe more than a little] - making her walk with both hands on the steel cables as I forced myself to keep my eyes straight forward and not look down.  It was horrifying - but I did it - and it was lovely [what parts I actually saw].  I, however, preferred the parts of the tour that were on solid ground.

Fast forward one year to this past weekend - we went hiking at Lynn Valley Canyon about 15 minutes from where we live.  And as we made our way into the forest, there loomed before me another suspension bridge.  At first I refused to cross - determining that Philip and the kids could go across and come right back and we'd head down the path to our left to enjoy what nature had to offer on solid ground.  Then Lydia decided she was scared and I knew I'd done it, so I told her I'd go if she did, and we went.  Again - I looked straight ahead at Henry's bright orange sweatshirt on the other side of the bridge and I watched intently as he prodded me along, inviting me to join him.  I kept two hands on the steel cables - except when we had to pass by some most (according to my phobic self) insane tourists who stopped in the middle of the dangling walkway for photos.  I didn't look at the views - which were supposedly beautiful (confirmed by the photos Philip took that I'll post at a later date when he's back in town w/ the camera) and Lydia and I made it.  And we were both pleased with ourselves - but - looming in the back of my mind was our need to cross that blasted bridge again at the end of our hike.

We had a lovely time - climbing stairs to waterfalls, climbing down rocks to 30 foot pools (far too cold for swimming right now), scaling rocks and watching the river flow.  We laughed and got dirty and had barrels of fun; then it was time to head back to the car.  Henry could not wait to cross the suspension bridge again - I, on the other hand, would have been just fine walking another 10 kilometers to cross something that seemed more substantial.  Henry could sense my angst and he sidled up to me and announced that we all needed to find a partner (all 4 of us, that is) and he was mine.  He took my hand and looked me dead in the eye and said, "Mama - you and I are going to go first and I'm going to hold your hand and I'll help you conquer your fears."  I almost cried right there.  This voluntary heartfelt willingness to help me be brave was the best gift this mama could ever receive.  And it resonated with my soul as the words "...a little child shall lead them..." rang in my ears.  You see we're in the midst of that almost preteen, silly boy, sometimes attitude-ridden phase of life and this beam of hope that my sweet boy is still his sweet self was a spark of the divine.  I know he's there but these moments when he embraces that piece of himself get me every time and must be recorded, praised and held tightly. 

As luck would have it, we crossed the river via a traditional footbridge (thank the Lord) and I looked over the edge at the falls below with no fear.  And I held my little boy's hand.  And my heart was full to overflowing.  My favorite time of year, the season of Advent, is coming - the time of expectation and hope - and this time nine year's ago I was carrying the child who has grown into the boy who now helped carry me through my fears.  Hope is alive and anticipation is palpable.  What a joy, what a humbling joy to be trusted with his care and with the care of our daughter.  I look forward with great hope and anticipation for what the future holds for these two precious people and will forever hold them and our parenting as holy responsibilities - I and am ever-grateful for their health and good souls.  May their true identity always make itself known - even when attitudes and silliness might mask them momentarily.

Our kids a year ago

 

Our kiddos today