Tag: grandchildren

What’s Your Funnest, Best Day?

Our five-year-old grandson walked into his parents’ home and announced, “I had the funnest, best day in my whole life and whole world!” 

His sleep-deprived mom and dad sat on the couch with their newborn infant. They smiled to acknowledge their son’s excitement, noting the new monster truck in his hands.

Our grandson continued in a rhythmic tone.

“We went to the store. We got my monster truck. We had ice cream. We went to the park. It was the funnest, best day in….” 

“That does sound fun,” our daughter replied. But when she looked at us, her raised brow said, “You’re spoiling him.” 

No argument there.

My husband and I had been in their home for ten days to help with meals, errands, and their five-year-old son who’d become a big brother.  But as I went to the kitchen to prepare dinner, I wondered if our “help” would make their lives more uncomfortable after my husband and I returned home. 

Our grandson would miss his fun grandparents all the more if we made every day feel like “Fun-Dar-Land.” 

Also, returning to his daily routine would seem like an “Aftershock” because his parents don’t have the same freedom to make every day feel like “the funnest, best day in his whole life and whole world.” 

Nor should they!

Spoiling is another word for overindulging which is the last thing we need to teach our kids in a self-centered world.

As I diced carrots, our grandson played with his toy cars. “Eee Ooo Eee Ooo. Vroom Vroom.” 

We’d had a fun day with our grandson. We’d laughed, ran, played in the sand with his monster trucks. But did I want fun memories to be the end goal?  

Quality time with our grandson is limited. So I want our memories worth remembering. To leave an enduring impression that outlasts a plastic monster truck.

Along with the fun, I hope he remembers—

Bringing Mommy flowers in her hospital room. Helping Grandpa make Brownies for my birthday. Bringing Papa wood for the outdoor fire pit. Helping Grandma carry books to the library. Singing to Baby Sister when she cried.

I hope our grandson enjoys his childhood. But I pray he’ll discover:

Helping other people can also be “the funnest, best day in our whole life and whole world.”

Even in this … overindulgent world.

“And I have been a constant example of how you can help those in need by working hard. You should remember the words of the Lord Jesus: ‘It is more blessed to give than to receive.’ ” Acts 20:35 NLT

Photos: My own

You Okay?

My grandson toddles toward the lonely playground. He’s eighteen months old and this morning, his sights are fixed on the metal swing set. 

I watch his precarious baby steps as he navigates the gravel path. Best that I stay within arm’s reach in case Grandson falls. Sure enough, he stumbles.

“You’re okay. I got you!” 

I grasp his outstretched hand before his knees scrape the ground. Then, I lead him by the hand while we walk to the swing set.

After I settle on the swing, I lift Grandson to  my lap and wrap my arm around his waist. He leans back, fearless and content as we swing higher and faster.

This child trusts me with his safety. No whining or wiggling to suggest he’d rather be anywhere but here. Ohh, to be a carefree child!

Throughout my life, I’ve seen the Lord’s mercies. He repeatedly rescues me from danger and cushions my falls. So I know his eye is on me, and his Spirit guides me. But,

I want to trust God more. To be content with the here and now when life’s events feels like nettles in my socks.

Whenever I hear—pandemic, protests, politics—my body stiffens. I grumble about social distancing, quarantine, masks, my canceled appointments—hair today, denied tomorrow.

I raise my hands in protest rather than prayer.

This isn’t the summer vacation I bargained for. This isn’t the retired life I’d anticipated. This isn’t the lifestyle I’d envisioned for my grown children. I want to see my parents without fear of infecting them with COVID19!

Dad says, “Could be worse!”

Today is worse.

It’s nine a.m. and I’m drenched in sweat as the mercury in my outdoor thermometer inches toward a hundred. I can tolerate the heat, but rolling power outages and Red Flag Warnings (to evacuate our home) are in effect while the not-so-distant wildfires paint the sky ash grey. Yesterday, the foothills looked like they were puffing a cigarette. Today, they’re a chain-smoker.

I inhale deep, before the winds shift south and the air smells like a stale smoking lounge. I worry for the firefighters. I ponder what I’d do if my house burned down.

My body is swinging in the breeze, but my disposition is teetering on the edge of a miry pit. God intervenes like the doting Father that he is.

“Karen, you’re okay. I got you.”

I want to believe you, Lord, but…. 

From where I stand on planet earth, it feels like you’ve abandoned your creation. Not that I’d blame you. A time out, with our noses on the wall, might do everyone some good. But right now, I’m not feeling okay. 

God knows me. And yes, he is patient. He brings to mind what my mentor, Loretta, has told me repeatedly. The eternal perspective that has pulled me up by the boot straps on more than one occasion, and helped me forge ahead by God’s grace. 

She’d point to the pandemic, the wildfires and the nettles in my socks and tell me, 

“Every circumstance is an opportunity for God to teach and change us.” 

Change us? How?

To become more like Christ—more loving, compassionate, kind, patient, forgiving, willing to serve, prayerful.

I inwardly squirm. “I don’t want to learn these lessons the hard way. Can’t I sit in my recliner and read the Bible and be changed?”

My grandson points to the sky, bringing me back to this sweet spot.

I follow his wide-eyed gaze.

“That’s a Red-Tail Hawk,” I tell him. “Birds use thermals to soar without flapping their wings.”

My grandson isn’t old enough to comprehend everything I say, but he’s taking it all in—his surroundings, my words, the tone of my voice, my actions. He’s getting to know me as well as life.

Spending time with someone will do that, you know. 

Grandson scoots off my lap and heads for the tall metal slide. He’s been there before. And he’s not afraid. He knows that grandma will be right beside him. 

 That’s a God lesson . . . even in this!