Lullaby

Oh! Hush thee, my baby, the night is behind us,
  And black are the waters that sparkled so green.
The moon, o’er the combers, looks downward to find us,
  At rest in the hollows that rustle between.
Where billow meets billow, then soft be thy pillow,
  Oh weary wee flipperling, curl at thy ease!
The storm shall not wake thee, nor shark overtake thee,
  Asleep in the arms of the slow swinging seas!  - Rudyard Kipling


The choir I sing with is performing Eric Whitacre's composition of this poem, and it's taking over my naptime routine with Maeve.  I can't stop singing it to her, because it may be the most comforting, quieting, peaceful lullaby I have ever heard. 

I can't think too carefully about it, though, the part about "nor shark overtake thee".  There are just so many sharks.  I know I can only protect her from so many things, and other painful experiences will be a necessary part of her growing and deepening. 

I cannot even give a name to some of the fears that circle me like sharks when I close my eyes.  Some come from the day's headlines, some from my wild imaginings, and some from my nightmares.  As Anne Lamott likes to say, "My mind is a bad neighborhood, and I try not to go into it alone".  I fear most what I cannot protect her from. Heartbreak, tragedy, loss, teasing, shame, violence, danger, reckless drivers, predators, bad decisions, failure.  In a word, the world.

But she'll be safe from some of those "sharks" in that she'll have her Daddy and I, and I believe we'll be a loving and a safe place for her always.  So she should always have a harbor.  And that is the best I can do.

But darling, the storm shall not wake thee, nor shark overtake thee, asleep in the arms of the slow swinging seas.  You are safe right now, today, with me.  And I am grateful.