Preface of "Let the Arrow go"
／Julia Chou
Dear daughter, are you surprised that I am still on this subject? I am sure you still remember how difficult it was for Ma-ma's trembling hands to place that not-quite-well-sharpened arrow on the bow when you were seventeen. I had to learn to let you go. Seven years have passed; was the arrow launched or not?
I miss you intensely tonight, just like the way I already missed you the night before your wedding day. The words that you uttered while you and I embraced that night still play like a record in my head, over and over again.
"Ma-ma," you said gently, "I know that you think I'm too young to get married. But Ma-ma, I want you to know that if it wasn't because I knew I was marrying the right person, I don't think I will ever leave you."
My heart aches everytime I think about your growing up. As your mother, I take much responsibility for your experience, yet you said to me.
"Ma-ma, please don't blame yourself. No matter how much you worry about us, we will have to learn through our own choices. No matter how tightly you hold our hands, we will still have to take our own steps. No matter how strongly you urge us to pray and study our Bibles, we must eventually know the Lord personally, and see the Light for ourselves."
I remember one night your brother and I talked until it was almost dawn. He vented about his struggles and his hurts. I asked him when we were through talking.
"Will you let me write about the things you've shared tonight, son?"
He answered after a short silence,
"You can write about it, mom. I know I'm not the only person going through all of this. There must be other teens out there feeling the same way. Writing about it will probably help others."
You and your brother always let me write about your experiences. I am so thankful you are both understanding and patient. Now that you are grown, I am remembering your stories on paper, and sharing with other parents the bittersweet joys of being a mother.
These hands that tried to let the arrow go seven years ago are no longer trembling; they now only serve to lift you up in prayer. I myself then need to continue seeking even more earnestly God's will from His words. While the arrow has not yet reached its heavenly home, my hands still have room to grow, right?
