Grands and Cockles

I can honestly say, “Nobody ever told me this would happen.”

Grandchildren are subversives. I did not honestly know that but the truth has slowly dawned on me. Grandchildren are gorilla warriors who slip quietly into your heart and change everything. Before you know what is happening, they have a grip so tight on your heart there is scarcely room for your heart to pump.

There was one pastor friend who pined, “If I had know having grandchildren was so much fun, I would have had them first!” I didn't understand what he was saying and so just took it as one of his snappy sayings.

Then my first grandson came along and not too long after that, a second grandson. I remember being at a Mexican food restaurant with my oldest grandson sitting next to me when he reached over and got a chip from the chip basket, dipped it into the hot sauce, put it into his mouth, licked off the hot sauce and then stuck it in my mouth.

It was put up or shut up time. Either I pushed the chip away(and broke my grandson's heart—I thought) or sucked it up and ate the chip. Grandpa ate the wet chip. Telling the boy's father later about the experience, he said, “I wouldn't have done that.” I did, but more especially, lived, and allowed that memory to live on and warm the cockles of my heart.

So today, my oldest granddaughter had an outpatient surgery to correct a small issue with one of her eyes. My mind, my heart, and my prayers were never far away from her as she moved through that experience.

I have never really ever been around girls much—until they were the marrying age, so little girls are a creation all to themselves—a divine mystery if you will. Anna always remarked how pitiful I was around the little girls in the churches. She thought it was funny how they could wrap me around their fingers. There was this one little girl in Shamrock who would come into church on Sunday morning and the moment she saw me, she would exclaim in a voice that would be heard through the building, “Peacher! Peacher!” That would start a torrent of gibberish I found occasionally difficult to follow.

So, I have surrendered to the power of these grandchildren and most recently the grand girls as they weave their spell on me. Our Face Book portal lets them and us pop in without notice and start a conversation. Most often if it is unannounced to us, it is Zoey(with a “Y”) she is fond of telling me, and she says, “Grandpa, I need to tell you something.” That may be the last thing I understand in the stream that flows from her lips. But, it does my heart good to hear,”Grandpa, I need to tell you something.”

Because my sons have married well, I get to be “just a grandparent.” Saying that is underscored with the reality that many grandparents for one reason or another are raising their grandchildren. We have seen that again and again in our practice. We have seen the weight, the stress, the responsibility laid on the shoulders of these grandparents. I deeply admire those who step up at a time when they should be grandparenting to raise children in the absence of parents.

I will say I was fortunate to have two grandmothers, and one grandfather. My mom's dad died when she was 11. Her mother was a real grandmother to me. She never missed a performance I participated in, never missed a sermon I preached on a Wednesday night, and her presence was enough to tell me I was so important to her.

Anna and I aspire to be those kind of grandparents. Years ago, I read a book on grief by Joyce Landorf in which she characterized two influences in our lives. She talked about balcony people, and cellar people. Balcony people were those who cheered us on and encouraged us in what ever we attempted to do that was good and noble. Cellar people were just the opposite. In the darkness their voices attempted to undermine, provoke doubt and chaos.

I know what I want to be to my grands.

Wash your hands, wear your mask for others, mind the gap, and be kind. It will brighten these long days we are moving through together.