Practicing Loving Detachment
By the time this newsletter arrives in your inbox, Graham and I will be down the road with our college sophomore, returning her to the campus she loves, moving her into a new apartment, hanging curtains, building a few shelves, stocking her refrigerator and then—with tears—walking away. She will be back home to visit in a few months but, we sense, never again to live permanently.
Some of you know this world. You are seasoned pros. Some shudder at the thought. Your mind simply cannot go there yet. Many of you remember your own moving away from home. The freedom. The thrill of being on your own. The terror. The lucky among us felt supported from afar. Not all have a story that clean.
I've been thinking a lot lately about loving detachment: the practice of remaining caring, compassionate and present without trying to control another person's choices, emotions or outcomes. It's a sticky one, especially for caregivers of all kinds, especially this time of year.
Jesus' own relationships offer a model of loving detachment—also called benevolent detachment or holy indifference. He knew and loved people deeply, invited them to join him in the work he was doing, taught them, tended to them and wept with them. But he did not use his deep knowing as a chess piece, he didn't withhold his love when they behaved poorly. He didn't coerce them into faith or try to keep them close if they wanted to leave. He allowed his friends and family the freedom of personal choice.
A few years ago, I adapted a blessing I heard from Emily P Freeman on the topic of loving detachment. I share it with you as a resource and a prayer for the people in your own life. If you send me the name(s) of anyone for whom you'd like to offer this prayer, I'd be glad to create and email a digital card for you next week. I wrote this card as a parent, but can adapt it for those of you who are spiritual mothers or fathers, or are detaching in some other way. May you find peace as you practice holy indifference in this season of change.
God of thresholds and doors and many, many interior rooms of my heart, this room of over-parenting, over-caring and over-functioning is not the only kind of room there is. There are other rooms, more spacious ones where it's possible to still care, but not to carry, where it's possible to love without losing myself. It's possible to hold space for my child to become who they are becoming and me enjoy their presence. And it's possible to be a little kinder to myself in the process, remembering that as they are people who are becoming, so am I. God of secure attachment, help me find a practical way to lovingly detach. Help me to learn a holy indifference. Help me cultivate a liturgy of a light heart. Help me, Jesus, to walk my children up to your loving presence so that they can take you by the hand and be led straight to the Father. **adapted from Emily P Freeman’s podcast episode on holy detachment