Crooked Crowns

On the fringes I sat for a moment, staring in. The joy, the merriment, the chaos -- we celebrated our youngest son's surprise thirtieth birthday. His jolly eyes and bucktoothed grin are still there, just older. The four of them, my babies grown, adding our three daughters-in-love to the mix, jostling each other, laughing, the center of the universe. I kept knowing I should mingle with others at the party but kept being drawn back to the rarity of reunion. We connect often, but once upon a time there was a day when we all shuffled semi-comatose to the kitchen together, propped each other up during family devotions, snored through movies, trekked long hours to wrestling matches and ballgames, pored over studies, had terrible fights, awesome laugh-fests and shoveled mountains of food into bottomless pits. You think those days will never end, but they do. The nestlings fly and make their own nests. This is what we want. This is what we made them for. Some days it is hard to trust it, to know that this is a good thing. I want to reverse time, bring back the raw life, the push of necessities, the tumble of my kids down the tunnel of life. I miss their baby days, their toddler steps, their pre-pubescent and innocent eyes, their fumbling talks in the middle of the night, their moments of triumph and defeat as they struggled forward into adulthood. Each stage was precious and unique.  I have guilt because I'm not responsible for them anymore. I do.

Thank God they're gifting us with plenty of grandbabies. So many (eight of them, aged 5 and under), I really need to quit my day job just to keep up the visits. Soft baby cheeks. Cackles of laughter. Hands raised to meet us. I look about and see the tired Mamas trying to keep up, the Daddys working a blue streak, houses, yards, baby food, nursing, doctor visits, and lots of bad diapers. I recall my turn, being so profoundly exhausted that I would dream about checking into a hotel room by myself so I could sleep until the fog wore off. I even did it one time. It freaked me out so bad, I came home before dawn the next morning. Ah, my selective memory! All the old ladies said, "Thank God, He gives you babies when you're young." I remember thinking that was a silly saying, because I was young but sure was worn out. What did young have to do with it? I'm not old yet, but am trying to get there, and I think those old ladies knew what they were talking about.  Proverbs 17:6 says "Children's children are the crown of old men; and the glory of children are their fathers." There's probably not a sweeter verse to me than that. Papa and I can attest to the fact that those grandbabies are our pride and joy. And wearing a crown is a heap easier than raising a baby. I'll take it.