My Granddaughter is 5. Please Help Us Protect Her!

My granddaughter Ashley will be five years old tomorrow. I know that is why I found myself an emotional wreck on Friday, spinning between a crushing sorrow and a seething anger. This is way too personal, way too real.

As I went about my normal activity on Friday morning I didn't pay much attention to the beeps emitting from my iPhone and other gadgets laying here and there around my study. I knew they were signaling that there was "breaking news," but I also knew there was rarely much significance to the notices. Probably Lindsey Lohan violating her parole while shopping at Gucci's, I muttered to myself, or perhaps the fiscal cliff negotiators are reporting no progress.

And then I picked up the phone and saw the words scrolling across its 2" x 3" screen. I could only grasp it in pieces. It was as if the full picture, the truth of it all, was too much to take in at once. I turned on the television and just sat there for most of the day. And I cried a lot, something I don't do much.

Later that morning our daughter-in-law sent us a text recounting a conversation she had with Ashley, explaining why she had been crying all morning. I was so grateful for Lyda who knew she had to find words for Ashley at a time when she didn't have the words for herself.

Usually things like this prompt me to write or pontificate in other ways. I try to piece it together, make some larger point, sometimes generate a little dialogue, and then move on. But this time it seemed different. The news outlets were awash in words as people tried to find context or meaning. Sometimes a slice of understanding emerges but the reality evades any kind of summing up. We will have to settle for glimpses here and there, perhaps depending more on poetry than prose.

If there is a big picture here, a sliver of hope, it may be in what feels to me like disorientation. Roles are changing. People are questioning their own positions, no matter how devoted to them they may have been.

The President is being referred to as the Comforter in Chief. His tears on Friday have been replayed over and over, perhaps too often. He takes pride in his stoic demeanor, especially in difficult times. But this time the tears were what we needed. Somebody had to cry for all of us. It was not planned or rehearsed. It just came, undoubtedly in part because the President's own beloved daughters were in his heart as he walked to that podium in the White House.

Sunday night he became a preacher, matching the need to console the broken-hearted with the need to proclaim justice. Religious language does not come easily to him, but he knew that this was a time when the familiar words of scripture would speak in ways that his words would not, especially when spoken with his voice. It was disorienting, but that is why it was important.

Even the gun issue is being processed in a new way. Oh, the talking heads from the NRA are out in force as they always are. But already they are seeming to be irrelevant. Their mindless defense of the right to bear arms like these assault weapons that spray 30 blood-spattering bullets with the pull of a trigger is being seen for the nonsense that it is. For the first time in my memory politicians and commentators with 100% ratings from the NRA are stating, sometimes with passion, that things MUST change. Again, disorienting, but also promising.

The narrative that began on Friday has lurched and lumbered clumsily across the national landscape. It turns out that the mother of the shooter was not a teacher killed in her classroom, but herself a gun owner and outspoken advocate found dead in her home at the hand of her own son using one of her own weapons. Disorienting, and troubling.

Lisa Belkin writes provocatively that gun control is a parenting issue:

We can't just grieve and hold our children close. We have to demand that our country earn the right to call itself a civilized nation. We need to do this because our central job as parents -- maybe our only job, really -- is to keep our children safe so they can grow up. Easy access to guns keeps us from doing that job.

It sounds like she is saying that the problem is with me. And with you as well. Disorienting, but I'm afraid she may be right.

We don't know where all this goes. We have a history of having to face events like this, expressing our despair or anger or grief, and then allowing them to slip quietly out of our consciousness.

There is one thing that is different. These were children. Twenty of them, aged six and seven. That is the difference, they say.

My granddaughter turns five tomorrow. Please help us protect her.

Please!

"Out of My Heart"

Yesterday Ashley, my three-year old granddaughter, asked me where my mommy and daddy were. She has been working at understanding family relationships and just recently Ashley and her mom had put together a family tree.

I think she was quite surprised to discover that her much beloved "Unca Boo" was actually her daddy's brother. One family meal around the dining room table usually makes that resemblance quite clear.

But now as we were drawing together (okay, one eye was peeking at the Chiefs game) she inquired about my parents. I told her that my mom and dad were no longer with us, that they lived a long and good life and had died a few years ago, even before you were born.

I saw a little ripple of concern cross her forehead. She lifted those beautiful eyes of hers. I looked right at them and saw deep waters stirring in there. Her eyes moved to the living room and I knew she was making sure that her mommy and daddy were in view.

"But they are still here, aren't they?" she asked, now coming back to me.

"Yes, they are," I replied, but not too quickly. "They are always right here in my heart," I said, touching that spot in E.T. fashion.

She was quiet for a few moments, putting the pieces together. Then she said, somewhat softly but with assurance, "My mommy and daddy are out of my heart."

Then she picked up a blue pencil and returned to her drawing.

It took me a little longer.

Learnings from Ashley - Part 2 of 2

A few days ago I had some fun with this blog when I posted some reflections from the experience of caring for my granddaughter over a period of two months. It is easy to smile at Ashley's expressions or to cluck our tongues because of how cute she is. We love her innocence even in knowing that life will soon make it over into something else. But enough of that--for now we shall embrace the joy and allow it to lift our spirits and fill our hearts.

But there is something more to all of this than diaper stories. I am learning how a young child unwittingly provides us with a chance to peer deeply into our own souls and to discover things that might even transform us, but will at the very least cause us to ponder. Here are a few things I stumbled onto.

Born to be Ashley. When Ashley was in the womb the family used to talk about what she would look like. Those sonograms are pretty awesome, but once the genitalia issue was resolved it was difficult to determine much else about her features. And then she arrived. Our response was, "Of course, THAT is what she looks like. She's Ashley. She resembles....." (well, take your pick on that one--kind of depends on what branch of the family tree one hangs on). But this we knew--she's Ashley, looking exactly like she should, like we knew she would all along.

Born as a Person of Worth in the Sight of God. One of the centering principles of my life comes from my own faith tradition, in which it is proclaimed that all persons are of inestimable worth in the sight of God. This concept has profound implications for how we live our lives, conduct our relationships, and shape our political and economic priorities. I love this principle. Now comes Ashley to embody it.

Born Joyful. When Ashley was about two months old I found myself fascinated by her smiles, her laughter, and her joy. Where did this come from? What made something funny? I wrote about this a few months ago in a blog post I called "From Whence Cometh Joy?" I still marvel at it but Ashley has persuaded me that joy is birthed within, written on our inward parts. I don't know that I can defend this in College Anatomy 101, but it passes the Ashley test. Joy is in there somewhere, maybe swimming around with the intestines and the kidneys for all I know. So here's the deal. My little granddaughter has made it clear that her joy is something to be nurtured. We're going to help her with that. And don't anyone dare try to snuff it out.

Born to be a Healer. This is a little personal and perhaps a bit presumptuous but I claim it as something I learned from Ashley. Over the course of those weeks we spent together Ashley and I had some conversations. Our faces were just a few inches apart during these times. We looked into each others eyes while talking and, miracuously, she didn't divert hers. She kept her gaze focused as I told her some things she needed to know. But I also talked with her about some pain and loss that has come into my own life in recent years, largely of my own doing. When I was done talking she kept her gaze and then she did something remarkable. She gurgled forgiveness and her little hand wrapped around my finger and squeezed out a dose of redemption. I embraced the gift with tears.

Ashley is growing up in a difficult time. An unconscionable war is being waged in Iraq. Gasoline prices are spiraling upward at a record pace and the American economy is in trouble. It is a political season, one with some positive signs but also serious dangers. Ethnic, religious, and political divisions threaten our global culture.

Part of me wants to shelter her from all that. But another part of me knows she cannot be sheltered, indeed must not be. After all, she is the one who brings me the most hope, the most promise for a better day, the best reason to believe in the possibilities of tomorrow.

And a little child shall lead them...

Learnings from Ashley - Part 1 of 2

Today I completed over two months of day-long care of my 5 1/2 months old granddaughter Ashley. Her parents needed someone to watch her so my daughter-in-law could fulfill her teaching contract. To meet that need they gifted me with the opportunity to care for her during that time. Lyda will now stay home and be a full-time mom. I will return to self care, something undoubtedly needful but far less fun without Ashley.

I have asked for joint custody. Those negotiations are not going well.

Just before taking on this responsibility I pondered what it was going to be like and even wrote some initial anticipations in this blog. The actual experience far exceeded my fondest hopes. My time with Ashley was memorable beyond words and will be forever inscribed on my soul.

So what did I learn?

Well, on one level I discovered that child care utensils and practices are considerably different than when I last dabbled with infants and toddlers in the 1970's. I believe that using our car seat from that era might be a felony today. And there were other things...

--Diaper pins have been replaced by velcro. What's the fun in that? And just as you learn that proper diaper tautness is assured by positioning the velcro tabs on Cookie Monster's ears, here comes Bert and Ernie requiring completely different diaper geometry.

--I learned that with some extra effort it is possible for a baby's head to fit through the armhole of their little outfits. That knowledge, however, is not as appreciated as you would hope.

--I imagine there are some parents who are like me in wondering how a cute little girl can follow a feeding with a belch that topples the figurine on the bookcase across the room. I have researched this and am pleased to report that there is no evidence that such a capability leads to an adolescence involving tattoos, Harley Davidson jackets, or the cultivation of sweet smelling plants in the backyard.

--Here's a quick tip. When putting on a baby's sock it is preferable to get all five toes, including the little one, inside the sock before pulling it halfway up the calf.

--And finally, the $55 tanks of gas in my Camry have got me to wondering about capturing the energy generated by a baby's kicking feet during diaper changes--especially the ones involving you know what. Forget solar energy. You could heat your house if you just tapped a portion of that kicking action.

Ashley made me laugh, but she also made me think about important things. More about that next time.

Ashley Care and the Pursuit of Peace

A bit more than three months ago I became a grandfather for the first time. If you've experienced it yourself you know that it is a life-changing event, transforming your viewpoint and reordering your priorities.

Obiously, some of my impressions about such things have found their way here, even though this blog is not intended to be a family diary in perpetuity or a gallery of beautiful baby pictures. (I'm not saying that such things aren't highly desirable, so for cute kid pictures and new parent musings just skedaddle over to Brian and Lyda's blog.)

However, my purpose here is to try to weave life experiences and reflections into insights that connect to the values in my mission statement. In that spirit I want to tell you about something significant that begins today and promises to be a challenging but immensely satisfying slice of my life.

My daughter-in-law Lyda has finished her maternity leave and now returns to her classroom to fulfill her teaching contract. When the school year ends she plans to stay at home with Ashley full-time. However, between then and now there is a nine week bridge of time that needs to be covered. Brian and Lyda have asked if I would be willing to care for Ashley during that time.

I am sincere when I say that I was honored to be asked and know that it was a statement of ultimate trust. I did not take the request lightly. It is a major commitment to care for a three month old child all day long. That is especially true now that I've reached a time in life when my body is only rarely described in terms that compare favorably with the lithe frame of Greek mythology's Adonis.

Ashley, of course, was the deal clincher. The opportunity to spend long blocks of time with this child is irresistable.

Some of you are gracious enough to wander into this little corner of cyberspace and reflect with me on the smorgasbord of issues--some serious, some whimsical--that we engage in here. Because of that I thought you should know what I'll be doing over these next two months. Who knows what effect diapers, swaddling clothes, warm bottles, hissy fits, and "glad to see you, grandpa" smiles will have on my views about heritage, diversity, and peace.

I have a feeling Ashley is about to reframe them in deeply satisfying ways.