My second grandchild was born last week. I was 3500 miles away but this week I am there, holding my just hatched grandson.
I am new to this. My other chick is just a year old. There are no words for this, seeing your child with her child. Seeing your baby holding his baby.
But I am a bit anxious about being a grandmother. I’m struggling just a bit with the new title and role. Is this who I am now?
I don’t bake cookies anymore. I don’t knit or quilt or do any kind of hand crafts and likely never will. (I got sent to the principal’s office in 8th grade for refusing to learn to crochet.) More power to all my friends who are masters at these worthy arts. But I also know we women in our Wonder Years are breaking all the stereotypes. Here are some grandmas maybe I could be . … ?
A 73 year old body builder.
90 year old Baddie Winkle
Ummm, maybe not.
I’m Nana-Nona-granny seeking because my own grandmothers have given me little to go on. One grandmother---I remember seeing her twice in my life. The other, though she lived less than 2 hours away, I saw more, but I’m not sure she knew my name. She died when I was 15. Or was I 13? Out of her things, I was bequeathed a brand new flannel nightgown still in the cellophane she hadn’t had time to wear in her final days. I was thankful for a new nightgown.
A psychologist has famously identified 5 types of grandparents:
1. Formal grandparent: follows what are believed to be the appropriate guidelines for the grandparenting role, which includes providing occasional services and maintaining an interest in the grandchild, but not becoming overly involved.
2. Fun seeker: emphasizes the leisure aspects of the role and primarily provides entertainment for the grandchild.
3. Surrogate parent: takes over the caretaking role with the child.
4. Reservoir of family wisdom: the head of the family who dispenses advice and resources but also controls the parent generation.
5. Distant figure: has infrequent contact with the grandchildren, appearing only on holidays and special occasions.
So—we start grandparenting from scratch, many of us. (Just as some of us have mothered and fathered entirely from scratch.) And that makes me not sad but a little bit afraid. Not of my grandchildren, but of me. You might know the litany too. Shall we chant it together? I am afraid of not being enough. Of not giving enough. Of not loving enough. Of disappointing my kids. Of disappointing my grands.
And even as I write these words, how familiar they are! This worried song-and-dance began 32 years ago, when my first child was born. And during each of the five pregnancies that followed, it played in my tired ears and weary heart. (How will you love this one enough? You can’t do it. You’re not enough.)
These were not lies. They were not enemy schemes to take me down. It was a fact: I wasn’t enough. I was small, narrow-hearted, tiny minded, trying to rule a riot of boys on a desperate thread of little sleep and not enough prayer.
Thirty-two years later, I am on the phone with those boys and their wives and my daughter and her husband. We are calling often. We are flying thousands of miles to be together. We laugh and give with generosity. We are friends. And now I hold their babies. And I hear the whispers of fear again. But----now I know.
I know how this miracle has happened. I could not see it at the time. It was like the miracle that the apostle Peter experienced that day on the beach. You know Peter, the one who said he’d stick with Jesus to the death, he was that brave, that loving, that faithful. But when it counted most, poor Peter raced to save his skin and disavowed his best friend. Three times. And Jesus died alone.
But Jesus came back (because death cannot keep the author of Life). Over breakfast, Jesus asked Peter three times,“Do you love me?” He didn’t ask, “Are you ever going to run away from me again? Are you ever going to make a mistake again? Are you ever going to act selfishly again?” Just, “Do you love me?”
You know how it ends. Peter says “Yes! You know I love you!” with such passion. And Jesus tells him simply, each time, “Feed my sheep. Take care of my lambs. Feed my lambs.”
And you know, Peter does take care of God’s lambs. Peter went on to found the early church. Not because his own love was enough. His love for Jesus was just like ours: small, human, imperfect, finite love. He was able to establish God’s Church not because his love was enough, but because God’s love was enough.
And this is the truth of parenting, I know. Because He did it for me. With six kids. He’ll do it for you with your kids. And I am believing it will be true of grandparenting, too. That Jesus, who turned water into wine, who calms storms and multiplies fish and bread, will take what little we have and he’ll multiply it beyond our imaginings. He will.
THANK YOU for being here with me. I have a question for you:
Do you have stories to pass on to your children and grandchildren? Do they know who you are, what you’ve come through, where you’ve been? Without family stories, we are exiles in search of a place and people to belong to.
Let me help you find and tell them? This week I’m so nervous/excited to offer a brand new course different than any I’ve offered: “Why Your Story Matters and How to Tell It.” It’s a video course that you do at your own pace. Filmed in Alaska. I have poured my heart and 30 years of teaching into this. It’s the best I know how to do. And it’s a living class—-I’ll see you each week in an hour-long live session. And you’ll be able to share your stories with others.
Here’s more, (and a video of what others say about their experience: )