None of this takes the place of the greatest Gift of all, the one that cannot rust or be stolen. Treasure in heaven. Every material thing we have can be lost in a moment. That's why we are encouraged to "store up treasure in heaven." (Matt. 6:20)
I have been praying a lot regarding the devastating fires by which so many have been effected, and I have seen answered prayers in many areas. Many of you will ask, "Why did God let this happen?" And that is a question for another blog. What I know is that He saved many, protected many. For that I am grateful and give Him my praise.
It has been my experience, that when small prayers are answered, that my faith grows to believe for bigger prayers. "Faith comes by hearing." (Rom. 10:17) And, too, as a girlfriend long ago once said, "All the whys don't make you any wiser." Perhaps true faith stops asking why and simply trusts.
In that connection, I am publishing here a piece I wrote 17 years ago, a kind of memoir on my anticipation prior to meeting my grandson, Sammy, for the first time.
In the book called 1 Samuel, chapter 1, Hannah longs for a son so much that she cannot even express the words. Yet, because God is "The God of Hearing," (Gen. 21:6) He heard her prayer, answered it, and Samuel was born about a year later.
Two caveats: The promise of pictures in my purse is dated, because now they'd be on my phone. And the statement about not having gray hair . . . well, we will not talk about that!
Each year when I bring out the Christmas decorations, there it is, still bright polyester-last-forever green. This sock, close to thirty years old now, is one of a pair of knee socks that I bought for Joe when he was three years old. I wonder why I only have one. Now that I think about it, I remember that the other had a tear in it that could not be mended.I use the sock as Christmas ornament for the mantle. The color is easily as true as the day I bought it, a perfect Christmas green. A testimony to the statement, “Better living through chemistry.”
For the first time, I feel emotional about this sock. “It’s only a sock,” I tell myself. But now my son has a son of his own, just six days old. And I am a grandma. So this sock means infinitely more than it did last Christmas when, to the amusement of my husband, I affixed it in its place. Or when holiday guests asked me if it was the cat’s Christmas stocking.
This year I hold the sock in both hands and clutch it to my heart. Joey, my son, my only child, I remember when your feet were small enough to fit this sock, and your legs were too short to keep up with me when we walked in the park. Now you are grown, you are a Daddy. And I want to tell you, “Slow down for your boy, his little legs can’t carry him very fast.”
I wish I had both of the pair so that I could give them to Joe for my grandson. Knee socks for goodness sakes! Nobody wears knee socks any more. He’d smile at his dear old mother and say with tenderness, “Thank you. I can’t believe you still have these.”
Now, a new journey begins for me, the Grandma Tour. I can tell grandchild stories and carry pictures in my purse. Other grandparents have gone before me into the spoiling realm. They have blazed a trail that’s as wide as the San Diego Freeway. But I hope no one buys me one of those funny grandma sweatshirts. And don’t expect me to stop coloring my hair. Gray is unbecoming on me, and I won’t go there.
When Joe was four, I taught him to shoot pool and play pinball. I wonder if they’ll let me teach my grandson? Probably not. One thing is certain, I won’t have to teach him baseball, because his Daddy will do that. His Mommy and Daddy will be there through the measles, the tonsillectomy, the too-much-chocolate-cake nights. And when he comes home crying because some bully hit him, his Daddy will know what to say and do. His Daddy will not walk out on his son, move to Florida, or die too soon. Joe was made to be a Daddy. He knows what it takes. He knows what he missed.
Prior to today, it never occurred to me to analyze the desire to have a grandson, although I have yearned for one for many years. It must be part of the maternal instinct. Many of my friends already have several grandchildren; they’re way ahead of me. Part of me wants--needs to make up for the things I didn’t do for Joe, like slowing down when his toddler legs couldn’t carry him fast enough.
It’s like a second chance, having a grandson. Redemption. Now I have time to just be with the child, and enjoy his learning new things about the world every day. I don’t have to worry about finishing college, making a living, or keeping the house warm. I can hold him on my lap longer and listen to him. Going slow, that’s it. Grandparents are really good at that.
As I place the sock on the mantle, my thoughts rush ahead to next week, when I will meet and hold my grandson, Samuel. I want to tell him what his name means, and about the prophet of Israel who was born to a mother who longed so for a son that she poured out her heart to God. And “God heard.”I whisper again the prayer that formed in my heart the moment I learned my grandson’s name was Samuel. “Lord, may this child at a young age say as the prophet did long ago, ‘Speak Lord, your servant is listening.’ And may he hear Your voice clearly.”
Merry Christmas to all of you. May you cherish all your loved ones as you are loved and cherished by the One Who gave us the first Christmas.
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