Twelve years ago, I became a mother. Just like for everything else in my life, I had a plan. A great plan! And my life as a mom was absolutely going to follow the plan I’d laid out, because that’s what I do - I plan.

I envisioned everything typical for my parenting journey - sending my children to preschool, then to school, being involved in my child’s/children’s school, cleaning the house during the day while my kids were at school, being involved in church activities, time at the playground with friends, weekend birthday parties, travel, adventures. Mostly, walking along the general path that most families seem to walk.

It’s a beautiful path, that one. And to be honest, we did walk that path. We still do some days. We enjoyed preschool, many church activities, time with friends, play dates with others. The world is full of adventure and activity on that path. It’s a blessing to walk with others, to share interests, to celebrate life at birthday parties, to be at church with family and friends.

There are a lot of well-worn areas on the path. Many have traveled it before us, many seem to come behind us. The path is not without bumps or hills, but with some work and cooperation, they are easily traversed. Those ahead of us lend a hand; those behind us push us on. At times it’s hard - life is hard, walking the path is difficult. But you’re not alone, and that makes a world of difference.

I enjoy that path. I feel utterly successful as a mom, a wife, a friend, when I travel that path. Things seem to come easier along that path. There is rain, and there are puddles, but even they seem fun to jump into and splash. Some are deep and sometimes you get a little more wet and dirty than you thought you might. But the clean up is not too bad. It’s still a challenge, but it’s manageable. It can seem hard, and at times it is, but the clean up always gets done.

If I never knew any differently, that path would be amazing. I relish in the warm sunshine on my face, the wind at my back, the rolling hills full of sunflowers and daisies and bright summer colors, glistening drops of rain across the lush green fields. Friends, that path is a gorgeous path to walk as a parent. It’s a beautiful walk as you hold your child’s hand. Many who take that path are not disappointed! They see the beauty, just as I do.

One day, while I thought I was walking on that path, I realized we’d stepped a little off the well-worn trail. We had slowed down. In fact, we seemed to be stuck in one of those puddles that I once thought was fun. I figured that a second child would enjoy splashing in the puddles, cleaning up, and moving on, same as the first child. Why not? It’s fun! We splashed, I cleaned up the first child, then myself.

I turned to clean up the second child, but I could not get him out of the puddle. A few extra minutes - I could indulge him that time. After all, he is a boy. They all said that sometimes boys need a little while longer. I was a successful mom, along the beautiful path - I could take time for my son.

And so we sat. He played. He splashed. He was having the time of his life. But it was time to move on. I pushed and pulled, but he did not want to leave. I needed to clean us up and get us back on the path - the path I was sure we were supposed to walk. He wanted no part of getting clean, though. He tried to run away from me - farther off the path, through the taller grass, away from all that I could see and all that I knew to be right and good and normal.

What could I do? My husband and my son were waiting for us - on the path we were walking together. The gorgeous path of beauty and life. I called to my wanderer, but he went farther into the darkness, alone, but not afraid. My family was being divided. I could not pull my husband and son from all that we know, from all that had worked for us. Yet with each passing moment, my little blond-headed toddler was intrigued with everything he saw, as each new step that took him farther off the path.

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I took a step - a step off the path. My eyes were on my husband and my son, and their steps, though slower, as they waited for us, were progressing nicely. Lovingly, they nodded approval as I inched closer to our wanderer. My heart ached for the path that I wanted so badly to travel - together. With my whole family. But no amount of “good mothering” could distract my son. Any attempts at physically removing him from the trail he was wandering were met with fierce screams and opposition.

A deep breath. I could see the path - the path I loved. My family. My friends. And I could see my wanderer. My happy wanderer. My plan - the plan that kept me on the beautiful, sunlit path - I opened my hands and let the plan, comprised of list after list, float into the breeze.

Fear. Frustration. Many tears. My husband and our son waited - sometimes along the path, sometimes near the path, sometimes nearer to us. All the while, still a family. We welcomed a daughter - gorgeous, happy, full of life. Sometimes her joy for life got our son’s attention. At times, she was able to draw him closer to the path. Our older son was kind and patient with his younger siblings. What love he displays.

But we were not to return to the path as we hoped. We inched farther away from it, all the while still able to see it and feel attached to others as they made their journey.

One day, I looked around. I realized something had happened. We were off the path. All of us. My husband and our son and daughter had joined the wanderer and me as we sat well off the path, inspecting the under side of a leaf. I sat on the ground, while the wanderer sat in a mud puddle. I had no clue how he could be happy. I found the mud pretty disgusting; I didn’t like the feel of it on my skin. But there he sat, looking at the leaf, and then playing in the mud.

I did not understand. I didn’t recall anything like this from the plan I’d just let fly away. I mean, sure, kids like puddles, but getting caked in mud, and never really minding? That was new to me.

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We stayed there, in that spot, for a long time. At night, we’d sleep, but good rest never came easily. Sometimes our wandering child would stay awake till very late hours; other times he’d wake us while it was still dark, ready to tackle the day. My husband and I would try to take turns with him, but he wanted me. Day and night, night and day. Exhaustion didn’t even begin to describe how I felt.

Some days I tried to move him along the path - I would pick him up, clean him off, determined to move forward. We could do this - I had a plan before, I could make one again. The minute I would set him down, he’d find a new interest to occupy his time. I braved a glance at the path. I had to squint - I realized I could hardly see the path we had once walked - skipped - along.

Our life was different. Alone. Not what I planned at all. Everything that had come so easily at one point was now so difficult. I questioned every parenting skill I thought I ever had. How could life be normal for our children who needed normal, but new and interesting for the wanderer who required time and so much attention?

Prayer. A lot of prayer. A lot of wondering if God was really sure that He had done the right thing. I’m a planner; it’s who I am. Sometimes I asked friends along the path for encouragement, for prayer. This sitting near the mud was overwhelming. I reached out to anyone who might know why we couldn’t get our son back to the path. That’s the path we were supposed to walk - I was sure of it. But I couldn’t get our little wanderer to join us. I couldn’t move him physically - and when I did, he’d run right back to where he wanted to be. Far, far from where we were supposed to be. Those who I thought might know how to get us back on the path, only offered only small amounts of help and hope. Try this, or don’t worry about that. Those things helped - for a short time. But really, I enjoyed that time.

On this mucky walk far off the path, we felt alone. We were surrounded by bugs, grass and leaves, mud, mud drawings. On rare occasion, we’d encounter someone else also sitting off the path with us. Sometimes their child would twirl, sometimes their child would bubble over with gorgeous laughter. Laughter - we were never without laughter. Somehow, no matter how mucky or muddy we seemed, our children were laughing. They would hug and kiss us, covered in mud, or with hands full of wildflowers. They weren’t the sunflowers or daisies that I loved along the path, but they were pretty. Sure, they were probably weeds. They did die quickly. But they were weeds picked for me.

A long time passed, many ups and downs. Often it seemed like more downs than ups. Seems like we’d sled down a long, icy hill, only to have to work so hard to climb up the other side. Work. Life seemed like so much work. The school plan changed, the church plan changed. When I let go of my plan and let it blow away, it really did change everything. As we sat far off the path, often in the chilly shade of large, over-hanging trees, we realized we were often alone. Very alone. Sometimes just as stuck in our alone-ness as our son seemed stuck in his mud puddle. His own little world - and we were not a part of it. We were his source of survival while he became more and more covered in mud.

On occasion, he’d share something with us. He’d let the mud dry and make a picture for us. Yes, it was a picture drawn by a toddler. To us, though, it was an insight into his world. He drew a picture of the family. All of us. He was in the middle, we were all in a circle around him. {Looking back, today, this picture makes perfect sense. As we sat, though, I was just grateful to know that he realized we were there.}

Time passed. We never seemed to move very far. Others on the path would wonder why we were so far away. We looked like every other traveler. Surely we just needed to parent better. It was easy to let those people keep walking. We probably parented more while they slept, than they parented in a normal day. Touchy subject. Moving on.

One day, the sun was shining. The thick, over-hanging branches let through some of the sun’s rays. I opened my eyes to the bright sunlight. People. A lot of people. Some were busy with their work, but waved hello to us. Others were just hanging around, they greeted us warmly and sat to talk. I looked for certain friends but did not see them; I missed them desperately. There were some I hardly knew, or hadn’t seen in so long. Smiles. Everywhere. Laughter of children. Weeds. Arranged beautifully. No longer weeds, but wildflowers. Appreciated by all who received them.

I saw the path. I no longer had to squint. Somehow, we’d moved back closer to it. I’m not sure when, but it had happened. And then I saw it. There was a smaller trail. It led from the path, to where we were, to where others were walking or playing. Not just one trail - many trails - smaller, and leading from the main path, to many different areas. Many journeys were taking place - not just on the path, but beside the path, across it, around it, near us, farther from us, each family on their own, unique journey.

I looked for those who were mine - my husband, my boys, my sweet girl. I found my girl first - she was making a crown out of the wildflowers. She and her friends were skipping and playing games. Off the path. Friends. Holding hands, playing together, off the path. My boys, my husband - where were they? When we first ventured off the path, my husband and older son stayed close to each other. I started walking around, trying to find them. All those trails to and from the main path were very useful as I searched.

I found my older son next. He was learning - reading, talking with friends, tossing a Frisbee. Shooting water guns. Laughing. My daughter and my oldest son were fine - they were happy. Content.

My husband, where was he? My wanderer was hanging out in the mud still, playing, making pictures in the dried mud. Where was … I could hardly believe my eyes. My husband had tried to play with him before, but my son was never interested. I found my husband. He was sitting at the edge of the mud puddle, driving a toy truck through the mud, much to the wanderer’s enjoyment. They were playing together. Together. Tears flowed easily - happy tears.

As I looked around I saw so many people - people happily on the path, but so many people far off the path. It seems that the dark shade of the over-hanging branches was not a bad place to be. It was different. Those wildflowers near the shade were gorgeous. Mixed into a bouquet with the sunflowers and daisies, they made a lovely arrangement. I thought that some people would be like me - a strong need to stay on the path, as it was “home”. And there were a few - I don’t blame them. I was a path person. I would still be a path person if I had my way. The path is amazing - the things you hope and plan for, and the walk along the path is wonderful!

However, it took a child who wanders to get me to see things that I would have never noticed otherwise. God gave us a son who seems to be meant for places other than the path. Maybe God knew we’d never veer off of it on our own. I had no plan to veer off, not until I let my plan blow away in the breeze. I had decided to stick with my son, and I stepped off the path. He’s my son, I couldn’t let him go. And when I stepped off, my eyes were opened to a whole new way to walk through life - extremely different, but no less beautiful.

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