there was a moment when I sat at the door of my 18 month old son's bedroom, watching, protecting, policing him. He was transitioning from sleeping in a crib into a big boy bed and he didn't like it at all. A nightly battle of wills began, where I'd tuck him in, pray, and then turn out the light, only to hear his bare feet padding across the room. I'd trudge back into his room, urging him back into bed, scolding and reminding him of his new bed. This would repeat until I'd sit at the door, on the floor, in the hallway, staring him down. Night after night, until finally, he'd connect that his new bed truly was his big boy bed, connect that I was truly serious about his requirement to sleep in the new big boy bed.

I'm hear again, years later, pondering about that moment. Remembering my tough, strict stance, policing and protecting, training and instilling a value. Only it's not about a new bed. It's bigger, more lethal, and much more troubling.

How did I get here? What do I do? He's too big to stare down, too strong to force my way...and yet he's still a fragile child who needs to be shown the right path.

Hopes and dreams meld into day to day drudgery, aspirations collide with the mechanics of hard work. There are no guarantees, only the promise of what we hope for. How do I point him in that direction? How do I encourage the passion of the journey rather than the results, the poignancy of the process, and the not success?