I hope someday if my kids ask me how to be honest, I knit them together with stories of how I should have, almost did, and then eventually showed up with the truth. I hope they tuck them into their pockets to study when they’re looking for answers along the way. That they decipher that honesty is the best policy, not because their mom is a mediator, troubleshooter, or skilled referee, but because they saw the grief and growth she carried from doing it the wrong, wrong, wrong and then sometimes the right way. 

I hope their teachers are Wisdom tangled up in Grace, that when someone pulls a thread, they unravel with a bravery to speak up and risk the pain. I pray that when the time comes, Fear doesn’t get a seat and that Self-Preservation isn’t a bully that gets in their way.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s about how easily things get in the way. I know about showing up with the best intentions only to walk out defeated, thinking that should have gone differently.

I know how regret sits heavy on your chest when your throat is stuffed with words you couldn’t say.

But I like to think I’ve now made friends with Courage and Bravery. I followed them around until they finally let me join the gang. I tried to memorize how they show up and string together consonants and vowels that make Fear himself feel afraid. 

I have not, by any means, become an expert in openness. I still stumble with my words, hold my breath, hesitate. But I spend a lot of time praying I’m stitched together with the lessons of how honesty and truth always deserve a little more space.

Maybe some day picnic tables with red umbrellas will hold for us conversations of salvaged memories and apologies. Maybe all the things that got in the way will have finally gotten tired and taken a holiday. I hope I bring a white flag that both of us can wave and that if Courage and Bravery are there, they know us both by name. Maybe this time Fear won’t get the invite, and we will realize Self-Preservation, not each other, was always the enemy.