Born to be a Gramma

Maybe I was born to be a Gramma.

Folding myself into the outdoor wendy house yesterday and playing shops with Flick sure beats digging the garden or hoovering. Building towers of bricks with her while helping wee Gregor balance in a sitting position between my knees is full of laughs. Watching her imagination explode with possibilities and ideas is such a privilege – and then, after helping a bit with the dinner-time ritual, being picked up and taken out to dinner and a theatre comedy by the Grampa is just the best.

Tomorrow I get to parachute into Callan’s house and play with him, too: endless games of peek-a-boo and explorations of the surrounding area as he begins to creep from one corner of the mat to the other, not crawling but definitely on the move. 

I am so privileged in my life to have choices. I have writing plans and even a deadline; I have travel plans and hopes; I have other responsibilities and activities, but I know enough about life to know that children grow like lightning bolts and if you miss a precious moment, you don’t get it back.

This is the day the Lord has made. I rejoice and am glad in it.

So grateful to God for this life he’s blessed me with: giving it all to Him so he can direct my every step. So aware that with privilege goes responsibility, and there burns within me still a deep desire to help those caught in turmoil and trouble and not knowing where to turn.

As Paul wrote, I can do everything through God who gives me strength. (Just not everything at once...)