In too many ways, this past year hasn't been good to her. Her mother left last July, contending she couldn't handle being part of a family while trying to take care of herself and getting her work (college teaching) done. Well, no matter how hard she tried to explain herself to Zoe, no matter that our girl is a wonder of deep and keen intelligence, Zoe couldn't understand.
I think she still can't. And a few days ago, her gecko died. She cried and told me it was her fault, that she hadn't been a good gecko mommy. So I asked what she might've done that she didn't do. She couldn't think of anything. Then she cried again.
The thing is, although I can't protect her from death and separation, I want to defend her innocence. Some days she comes home from school upset because one friend has been mean to another. And I know, from experience and from watching my big kids grow, we can only witness so much meanness or death, or suffer so much separation, before we drop our open arms and assume a more cautious stance.
Zoe may become an artist. Everywhere she goes, she finds paper and leaves drawings behind. After only a few months, she can make real music on her violin.
My life as an artist, and as a seeker of loving happiness, could be viewed as an ongoing struggle to throw off caution and open my arms. I can't abide the thought of Zoe repeating that struggle. Insofar as I have any power, I mean to help her become strong enough so she doesn't need much caution, and to love so deeply she can overcome fear.
I want her to remain the kind of person Jesus referred to when he advised that those who enter the kingdom of heaven are like children.
