Today is our grandson’s 6th birthday. Noah is always in a hurry! Whether he’s running through the backyard or cruising on his bicycle, or racing across the swimming pool or sliding into home, he is always “full speed ahead”!
That was even true on the day that he was born. It seems like it was yesterday that our daughter Bess was at her last prenatal appointment. While waiting to see the doctor she was pretty sure she had gone into labor. They examined her and sent her straight to the hospital at about 3:45 pm. Two hours later a nurse looked in on Bess and said she would be back in 30 minutes to check her progress. When the nurse returned to check, she lifted the sheet and said “And…we’re…having a baby!”
Just that quickly, Noah was born at 7:06 pm, September 20, 2010. He’s been in a hurry from the start.
I thank God for giving us a healthy boy who can run and run and run. I’m grateful that “he’s the fastest__________________________” (fill in the blank). He’s a dynamo who seems to move a little faster everyday. But some days I wish he would slow down. Sometimes I just need him to “put on the brakes”. I want him to climb on my lap. I want to hold him in my arms and kiss his sweet face. I want him to be “little” for just a little while longer. There are days when I feel desperate for Baby Noah. I want to tell him to please not be in such a hurry to grow up. To savor this time. To be patient. To hold on.
But today is not about me. Noah’s life is his own. He’s six today! And he’s in a hurry to run marathons and climb mountains and conquer this world and create beautiful moments and memories along the way.
I realize of course that I don’t need Noah to slow down as much as I need to catch up. And God willing, when I’m too old to run alongside him, I hope that I’ll still be able to cheer from the sidelines as he hurries past.
Happy Birthday Noah!
I love you,
(Pawpaw)
Denis
But grace comes when we least expect it (and perhaps when we most need it). My daughter and her family had joined us for mass yesterday, and just as I was feeling the most anger and disillusionment, my granddaughter Anna wrapped her arm around mine and leaned her sweet head on my chest. A simple loving gesture. Maybe she just wanted to let me know that I was loved. Maybe she just needed to feel loved. Whatever the reason, that moment was sublime. I felt my anger and frustration dissipate as her love flowed over me. I came to mass yesterday to read scripture and to hear the Gospel. Turns out it was spoken to me without any words.
My Mom runs the show at her house. She will be 87 this year and remains in the know about politics, current events, style and fashion trends. For someone not afforded an education she is smarter than most women that I know and Dad knows not to mess with Mom.
He recently left for a one-year, unaccompanied, remote assignment. Which means that he’s far away from home and his wife and daughters are left behind. Of course, there are worse jobs and there are tougher and more dangerous assignments but this is our son and it’s personal. And I’m feeling a little melancholy.
Last week our newest granddaughter Gwendolyn Elizabeth was baptized. Our good friend Deacon Gary baptized her; as he has baptized our four other grandchildren. It was beautiful celebration of God’s love for us. I was reminded (once again) that Baptism isn’t just for the baby being Christened but for the entire family gathered to experience the sacrament. We all renewed our faith and promised to help Gwen in her spiritual journey. As Gary so eloquently pointed out, Gwen really had no idea what was happening to her but our love and support would give her a foundation on which to build a life-long relationship with God. So with parents and siblings and Godparents and grandparents and great-grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins and friends, Gwen was welcomed into a new life in Christ. And we were all blessed.
Baptism doesn’t end with the sacrament. This will be the beginning of Gwen’s life as a disciple of Christ. She was presented for Baptism but her parents and Godparents will bear the responsibility for her formation. We will all support their efforts in raising her as a Christian but ultimately she will have to choose to accept her faith as an adult.
Right now we need more love in this world. Sadly the tragedy in Orlando has created a swirl of political debate about gun control, terrorism, radical Islamism, LGBT rights, and police response. Whereas I firmly believe in a ban on all assault weapons and I abhor terrorism and violence of all kinds, I believe we may be missing the point. The fact remains that 49 people were massacred and an additional 53 people were injured, some critically. How does so much hate; so much rage fill someone’s heart? And as a society are we partially to blame? Have we developed such a cavalier attitude in our nation toward gun violence that we can just accept the fact that these people were an unfortunate casualty? Surely not.
When our first granddaughter was born I didn’t know that one tiny little creature could possess such transformative powers. But she changed my life forever. She made me realize in so many ways that life is worth living and that our world needs more love, especially the kind that little girls bring. Maurice Chevalier sang “Thank Heaven for Little Girls” and I do. I thank God each day for my beautiful granddaughters. They are kind, brave, smart, and loving little girls. Someday they will become women who are kind, brave, smart and loving. And they will make our world a better place. These granddaughters of mine might do great things. These granddaughters of mine might create new inventions, cure diseases, save the environment, create peace in our world, and be remembered throughout all of history as heroines. None of that matters to me because they are already my heroes. Their joy fills my soul.
Growing up in the Midwest, my world was pretty small. Growing up Catholic and attending parochial schools made my world even smaller. To say that my life was insular is an understatement. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to know more – I just didn’t know anything else. Everyone that I knew had a mom and a dad; went to mass on Sunday; lived in a modest house; played in one another’s backyards; had a crucifix and pictures of President Kennedy and Pope John XXIII somewhere in their home; and were mostly happy (at least on the outside). I’m glad that I grew up and out and away from that life but I still remember my childhood with nostalgia. Some things haven’t changed but many things have. I believe that I have.