Did you read yesterday’s entry? It
concerned my grandchildren. Maybe you missed it. Pay attention today. Let me
tell you about my grandchildren.
Because of grandchildren, this
sixty-four year old man gets to once again finger-paint, carve pumpkins, pay
hide-and-seek, catch lightning bugs and never stop believing in Santa Claus. I
have three ready-made excuses to watch Saturday morning cartoons, to go to
Disney movies and once again wish upon a star.
I’m a grandfather. I get to frame rainbows
and hearts and flowers under refrigerator magnets and collect spray-painted
noodle wreaths for Christmas. I get hand prints set in clay for my birthday and
cards with backward letters.
I’m a hero just for retrieving a
Frisbee off the roof, for letting a child ride without training wheels when
parents are not around, for filling the wading pool, for freezing a
stuck-in-the hair wad of gum with an ice cube and removing it from curly locks,
for taking my grandson to get ice cream or pizza no whether his team wins or
not.
I’m a grandfather. I have a front seat
to witness history, the first steps, the first words, the first date, the first
time behind the wheel. I’m a granddad. I’m immortal. I get another branch added
to my family tree, and these kids will make the lines in my obituary a bit
longer.
I’m getting a refresher course in
psychology, nursing, criminal justice, communications, and human sexuality that
no graduate school could ever match. In the eyes of my grandchildren I rank up
there near God. I have the power to heal a boo-boo, to scare monsters from the
dark, to patch a broken heart, to be more understanding and lenient than my
children’s father ever was.
Most importantly, my grandchildren have
taught me something about the nature of God, for now I can love, truly, without
limits, without counting the cost.
Help me God to know for sure that you
love me without limits. Amen.
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