On Becoming a Grandparent

From my Journal 2009. I’ve always wondered how a mom’s heart can be totally filled up with love for a child and then still have room for one more. But God gave me a picture of that today. When Sharon was born, my heart filled up with a warm red glow. When Cindy was born, she added sunshine yellow, and the hues in my heart turned orange. When Katie was born, purple enriched it till I had a royal, multi-colored heart. Now if this doesn’t really work on the color chart, that’s okay. Because the Master Artist knows exactly where in the big picture He needs to dab paint on the canvas. He also knows what color of Himself to use to make the colors pop and sparkle and shimmer and glow, dance and come alive. And now little Jackson Morgan has splashed green all over my heart. Beautiful!

On Nov. 19, 2009, Jackson Morgan Wallace, 8 lb, 4 oz. arrived at 8:49 p.m. in Whiteville, NC.

Grandparenting? It’s great!

  • No pain of childbirth (or is it worse watching your daughter go through pain?)
  • No responsibilities for keeping the child alive (but I have even greater responsibilities to pass along to the next generation all the lessons God has been teaching me.)
  • Confidence in the parenting process—been there, done that, got 3 pink t-shirts!

I wish . . .

  • That we lived closer (but I’m very grateful for Skype.)
  • That I didn’t find myself continually saying, “When you were a baby, I . . .” (Yikes! I’ve turned into my mother!)
  • That I had the Internet, like Cindy, to find all the answers (Moms these days don’t need to depend on grandmas any more for their wisdom. Sigh.)

What I did right . . .

  • I told Cindy what my mother told me:  This is your baby. You get to make all the decisions as to how you’re going to feed him, discipline him, and meet his needs. You know your baby better than anyone else on earth. Listen to advice from others (even from me) if you like, but then ignore it all and go with your gut instinct. But most of all, pray, pray, pray.
  • I prayed for Jack before he was born, during the birth process, and continually after that.
  • I laid hands on him and blessed him.
  • I wrote out my first prayer for Jack the day he was born and presented it to his parents.
  • I quit telling Cindy what to do and asked questions instead. I tried to wait for her to ask for advice (hard).

My future grand-parenting plans

  • Tell Jack I love him every chance I get.
  • Tell Jack that Jesus loves him every chance I get.
  • Maintain a good relationship of trust with his parents.
  • Be available. Say yes as often as I can.
  • Begin a college fund in his name.

My best grandparent joke

A lady walked onto an airplane and glanced around for a seat. “Excuse me,” she said to one man. “Do you have any grandchildren?”

“Why yes I do!” he replied. So she walked on.

She came to another seat, and asked the lady sitting in the aisle, “Do you have any grandchildren?”

“Yes,” she replied proudly, “four of them!” So she walked on.

She came to a third person. “Can I ask you a question? Do you have any grandchildren?”

“No . . .” the person answered. “I don’t. . . .why?”

“Oh good!” the lady exclaimed as she sat down next to her. “Let me show you pictures of mine!”

A 2018 update

Cindy and Alex moved back to our town in Tennessee and had two more boys. What do you do with boys? I asked. Answer: just love ’em! Oh, and stock the toy box with cars instead of baby dolls please, says Benjamin.

Boys 3

Benjamin (6), Jackson (8), and Noah (almost 2)

So now I give you permission to brag on your grand-kids. And if you don’t have any, be sure to adopt one. Every child needs a grandparent!

The Journey Not to Home Part I

How should we respond to another person’s struggles? When is it appropriate to confront people? Is it ever right to judge them for their actions? How can I forgive if their actions or attitude affect me? Is it a matter of simply waiting for their heart to change? When do we put up with, when do we confront? How do we love them through it?

Journal from May, 2007. Moving my 88-year-old parents and Betty, a single missionary lady, from California to Florida was traumatic for all of us. It began yesterday at 6 a.m. with a 2-hour drive to the airport, arriving 2 hours and 40 minutes before takeoff. The flight was 4 ½ hours long, and it felt like an eternity. I was in charge of Mom while Paul [my brother] had to assist my incontinent Dad in navigating the tiny lavatory on board.

When we landed in Orlando, between us all we had 2 wheelchairs, 1 dog, and 12 pieces of luggage. In the flurry of getting everyone settled into the rental van, I forgot to pick up Dad’s walker. I hope we can retrieve it later from the airport.

The two-hour drive to Sebring was the hardest part of the journey. We pulled into a McDonald’s parking lot for dinner, and I entered the restaurant to place our order, thinking we’d all remain in the car to eat. But Dad decided at the last minute that he needed to make a pit stop. Without his walker, he had to hold onto Paul to walk to the building. In the process, Dad’s pants fell to his ankles in the parking lot! I was coming out the door at that moment, laden with all the sandwiches and drinks when I noticed the debacle. “Look at Dad’s pants!” I yelled at Paul.

Betty grabbed the food, I grabbed Dad’s left side, and Paul held on tight while bending down to pull up the pants. Somehow we made it through supper inside and got everyone back into the van. By this time, Dad was near exhaustion.

We arrived at their new home, and Mom put Dad to bed immediately. She had to struggle with changing his soiled Depends and finding a plastic sheet for the bed. And then she collapsed, weeping with great heaving sobs of relieve that the ordeal was over. I think we were all awake most of the night, too tense and exhausted to fall asleep.

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Day 5. After unpacking all their worldly goods, hanging photos on the wall, hooking up the TV, etc., I had a little time to explore the retirement complex and greet several missionaries I ran into, including Evie Lohnes.

My dear mother, so strong, so nurturing, so full of life to me growing up, is hurting so much. She carries a lot of anger, disappointment, grief and pain inside, and it continues to leak out in outbursts of irritation and tears over her losses. It was not her choice to make this move across the country, leaving behind her beloved daughter and grandchildren. And I think she feels the weight of caring for Dad as she has done all of her life.

In contrast, I listened to Evie, a recent widow, who spends her days in prayer and praise and a positive spirit with sweetness and encouragement. I asked her how she got to be this way, and she answered in a partial way:  “My husband was the most wounded man I know . . .” and then proceeded to tell me all the good he’d done in his lifetime. I could only read between the lines—that she was driven to her Savior for comfort and help. [I have pondered this statement many times throughout the years as I face whatever trials I go through or meet with difficult people.]

In church today the soloist sang “My Anchor Holds,” and the tears came unbidden. When Evie prayed for me and my parents, I wept openly. And now at 3 a.m. I lie awake and continue crying. For whom do I weep? For myself? For my mother’s sadness?

How much does Daddy feel? Sometimes he’s so out of it; other times he’s quite lucid and worried over details. I think he must feel what Mom is feeling. How can her mood not affect him? But he is totally dependent on her. She has become his mother.

The air in this house is thick, heavy, sad, oppressive. Negativity in the atmosphere can be toxic. At Evie’s, the light is bright and a cool refreshing breeze is blowing.

Lord, I don’t want to become a bitter, cantankerous, angry old woman in my old age. I want to find beauty in ashes, joy in sorry, light in the darkness. Lord, teach me.

Day 14. I just finished up a hard two weeks of listening to my mother struggle with anger, disappointment, grief and feelings of betrayal over their forced move to Florida. If we’re not related to a person or living with them, it’s easy to shrug off their negativity. But living with daily bitterness is wearing on one’s soul. I found myself reacting back in anger and irritation.

Jesus minced no words of condemnation for those whose hearts were blinded by self-importance. But those who had a repentant heart, He freely forgave and comforted. What if a person blatantly holds pride and sin inside? What if he/she is simply protecting pain? I cannot see inside another person’s heart, but I do know that what comes out of the mouth often reveals what’s inside.

I cannot judge my mother’s heart, but I can give God my own self-protection for the sorrow I feel. I choose to release my own anger to Him to carry.

To be continued next week . . .