I think my soul has been on fire as of late, or at least in a fever.
I know soul-fever is running rampant in my child’s body.
Her heart is brimming with the FEELS and she can barely contain all of the ways her soul is being spun.
Emotions, hormones, challenge, fatigue, friends.
I get it.
She needs a pause from the break-neck end of school year pace.
WE need one.
And so, though my instinct is often to push on and soldier through our commitments and tasks, assignments and work,
I know I need to lean into her aches, give space to pause when we need to, open toward the emotions and physically embrace the child.
We’re steadily marching toward teen-hood.
With each step, we get MORE.
More fun, more jokes, more anger, more sad, more competence, more zits, more convictions, more body changes, more confidence, more uncertainty, more intelligence, more fight, more grit, more insight, more card games and movies we all like. . . just. . . BIGGER and . . . more.
When I think about the soul on fire, I see that it can be dangerous. . . the weapon referenced in that quote.
I see that the soul on fire needs guidance, needs to lead with kindness, needs to be balanced with love.
Fire can burn, of course, but can also warm and feed and light the way.
I’m aiming for the latter fire in this soul I birthed but do not own.
I trip and tumble behind, trying to keep up and guide a little as she forges ahead:
Her chin jutted, a fierce look in her eye, but with a very vulnerable heart and a sensitive way of walking through the world.
The power that is brewing in her stuns me.
It is brilliant and terrifying and beautiful.
She is a human soul on fire.