Be Present
Not too long ago, we celebrated my boy's annual birthday pool party. Every year we've kept it simple with a pool party, and honestly, it's become one of our favorite traditions.
This year, I decided to leave the house a little earlier so I could reserve the tables, unload everything, and decorate before everyone arrived. I packed the car with balloons, coolers, floaties, gifts, and my trusty wagon, feeling prepared for the day ahead. When I arrived at 8:50 that morning, I started unloading everything and glanced toward the pool entrance. That's when I noticed the gate was still locked. Even though the sign clearly said the pool opened at 9:00, my mind immediately began racing. I started wondering if the pool had been closed for the day, if I had missed an email the night before, and what I was going to do with thirty children arriving in less than an hour. Within minutes, I had already begun looking up other pools, calculating costs, thinking about texting parents with a new location, and creating backup plans for a problem that hadn't even happened.
Then I caught myself. I remember thinking, Hana, this isn't Emunah.
Why was I allowing my mind to live thirty minutes ahead. Why was I worrying about something that might never happen? I told myself, "Wait until 9:00. If the gate doesn't open, then I'll make a new plan. But until then, be present."
So I sat down while the kids played at the nearby park. I closed my eyes, spoke to Hashem, read a few chapters of Tehillim, took a deep breath, and reminded myself, Gam zeh l'tovah. This is what emunah looks like not always knowing the outcome, but trusting that Hashem already does.
Sure enough, at exactly 9:00 a.m., the woman from the HOA walked over, unlocked the gate, and welcomed us inside. Just like that, all the panic I had built up disappeared with the turn of a key.
As I was setting up the decorations and arranging the tables, friends began arriving one by one, filling the pool with excitement and laughter. Around that time, my amazing friend arrived with the birthday cake she had made for us. Meanwhile, the boys dad went to pick up the pizzas, and before I knew it, our guests had arrived, the kids were swimming, and the party was going.
When the boys dad brought the pizza, and after making sure everyone had food, he stayed to celebrate. As I watched them laughing together in the pool, and our family talking to eachother I couldn't help but smile. There was a time when I never would have imagined the two of us sitting side by side, enjoying our children's birthday together. Yet there we were celebrating our boys, talking, laughing, and simply being present for them.
Co-parenting isn't something that happens overnight. It takes patience. It takes forgiveness. It takes difficult conversations, mutual respect, and choosing your children over your pride. Most of all, it takes Emunah. Emunah that Hashem can soften hearts. Emunah that relationships can heal, even if they don't look the way we once imagined.
Later that afternoon, I was sitting beside my parents, watching everyone enjoy themselves, when my dad looked over at me and smiled. "Well," he said, "now you have a twelve-year-old. Next year is the bar mitzvah. Are you ready?" I laughed and immediately answered, "No way." But then I stopped and thought about it. He was right.
It feels like yesterday I was rocking him to sleep, and now we're talking about tefillin, a tallit, and his bar mitzvah. Time has a way of moving quietly until one day you look up and realize your little boy is becoming a young Jewish man.
After that conversation, I called my uncle in Israel to order his tefillin and tallit. B'ezrat Hashem, when I travel to Israel in the next few weeks, they'll be ready for us to bring home.
That day I learned a little more about Emunah. Not because everything went perfectly, but because I recognized my anxiety before it took control of me. I paused. I took a breath. I davened. Instead of letting my mind run ahead, I chose to stay in the moment Hashem had given me. I didn't let fear write the rest of the story. I simply let it be. I rode the wave I thought was coming only to realize it never came.
We all have moments when our Emunah slips through our fingers. We all have moments when fear speaks louder than faith. The goal isn't to never feel anxious. The goal is to recognize those moments before they take over. To remember that Hashem already knows how the story ends, even when we're still standing outside the locked gate.
Emunah