I’m old enough to have grandchildren, but young enough to enjoy them. I just returned from having lunch at Crawford Elementary School with my oldest granddaughter. We have called her Katie from before birth, but at school she goes by her first name, Sarah. We ate Subway sandwiches together in the cafeteria seated next to her friends and then walked down the hall to the library holding hands. This is all part of the book fair tradition I have with my grandchildren that live nearby. Whenever the date rolls around (and they do not allow me to forget) I take each of them in turn to the book display and let them choose a book. Each brings a different approach to the task of deciding, and I enjoy observing their budding personalities and preferences.
Grand-parenting is an educational experience unlike any other. I never thought as a kid to wield a twig like a bō staff or construct a tea party from mud and red Solo cups. I’ve learned that little girls are sturdy enough to romp and battle with their boy cousins but soft enough to offer butterfly kisses, and magical enough to hypnotize with dimples and blue eyes wide in wonder. I’ve observed little boys weep over a dead pet, then destroy legions of mutants with imaginary super powers. I wonder if the Creator looks on us with the same amused affection. Grand children are great reminders of God’s grace– we don’t deserve them, but life with them is far grander than it would be without them.