This past week, all around me, young mom’s and dads were busy getting their kids back to school. At work, they talked in small groups about new teachers, school supplies, and bus schedules. Every year this energy brings back memories of when I too was mired in the hustle and bustle.

Kelly back row 7th from right

Daniel front row 1st on left

Every fall, I dreaded the first day of school. Ever conscious of the limited time of my children’s youth, the new school year was like a big bell saying, “Ding, ding, ding… another year has gone by.”

I love being a mom. From the moment I laid eyes on my kids, I was stunned by how much I could love another person.

But with that love came the overwhelming responsibility for things like their character. I
hated it when I had to discipline them. It seemed they’d never remember to brush their teeth, chew with their mouth closed, or pick their clothes up off the floor.Often times, trying to stay on top of all those details took the fun right out of parenting.

Then came the world of grand parenting.

A world where I could ignore the small indiscretions. If I overlooked a table manner or a bad word here and there, so be it. Let the parents sort it out. After all, they’re the ones responsible for how they turn out.

Don’t get me wrong, I care, but it’s not my burden. I’m free to pick and choose when to apply discipline and when to apply grace. And I relish in that freedom.

Being a parent helped me better understand the discipline I receive from a loving God. My own pain in nurturing my children helped me see the pain I caused God by my disobedience. It helped me understand how God nurtures me in order to protect me and help me grow.

But until I became a grandparent I struggled with understanding the grace of a loving God. How could He turn a seemingly blind eye to the ugliness of my sin?

How could He lavish me with all the wealth of His glory when I continually committed the same blunders over and over? How could He spoil me with the abundance of His kingdom? Or hold back on the discipline I really deserved.

I marvel at how God is constantly applying the grace and discipline I need in order to mold me and draw me closer to Him.

I want to continue to shower all my grandchildren in an abundance of grace.  I promise their mom’s and dad’s I will discipline when danger is involved.  But who is better than a grandparent to model grace? And in doing that I hope to point them to a God whose greatest desire is to give nothing but good gifts to His Children.

 

This old steamer trunk has been kicking around my home for years. In the 50’s and 60’s, it carried the belongings of my grandparents as they traveled around the world on special assignment with the State Department. Today, it’s filled with old letters and pictures of my ancestors. Each face representing a story.

One of my favorites is Cattie Johnson. My grandfather’s mother. Her story is compelling. As a young girl, she walked from Oklahoma to Texas behind a covered wagon.

Also in the trunk is this letter, written by John Morgan Rice. It says:

Some time later Cattie married John Morgan…

and down the line came my Grandfather, Morgan Hampton…

then my mother Josephine…

then me…

I love to tell my children and grandchildren about Cattie. I want them to know about her strong pioneer spirit. How it lives in me, and in them too.

Regardless of whether we realize it, we are all writing our story. Every decision we make, every path we choose, every word we speak, has the potential to be the story our future generations tell about us.

In the last five years, I’ve lost just about everything. My life savings, my home, and my husband of 38 years. Then last week, I stood on the grass as the grandchildren who – for the past 14 years – have lived right around the corner, left for the 500 mile move away from me.

My first inclination was to rage against the God who controls the universe. In my inability to see Him as a loving God, I wanted to blame Him for my loss. But instead I’m choosing a different path. I’m writing a different story.

Instead of despair, I’m peering around the bend anticipating what God has in store for me. I’m clinging to His promise to Paul, “My grace is sufficient for you.” I’m choosing to believe He is enough to not just carry me, but to elevate me above my loss.

One day I hope my great grandchildren discover this trunk of old pictures.

We can’t help ourselves. It’s what we do, we build stuff. It’s in my children’s blood. They
grew up in the sawdust of their father’s latest project. They have no memory of a time when he wasn’t building something. They learned it all in his shadow. He loved having them by his side.

It’s the one thing Tim and I did best – we taught our children to work together. That a family is a team. And by combining our strength, we could do big things.

For in less than eight hours, they had transformed a space of nothing…