A notice comes on my phone. A picture of my great-grandson pops up. I open the app and find a video of his mommy talking to him, leaning over his little tummy and digging her head into his soft middle. I hear the delightful sounds of baby gurgling which erupts into baby laughter.
His shriek of joy warms my insides and sets my heart aglow. The bubbling belly laughs repeat, effervescent and joyful. Contagious. Before long, I find myself laughing too.
In little but growing ways, it’s as if there is a sort of unraveling in my adulthood. Like I’m unwinding in reverse toward littleness. Mounting years seem to send me back to where I once began.
The floor is way down there and the haul up is not pretty. Energy seeps through my pores, and new things are daunting, like an unchartered cliff to climb. Where did I put my car keys, is just a step from where did I put my car? In full disclosure, I have walked a few parking lots with an overflowing cart. In the rain. That woman.
Forgetting is a common life practice. People much younger than I am scatter expensive adult-sippy cups like crumbs, lose cell phones, and leave jackets on other’s hooks. No one thinks much about it. But when I forget the smallest thing, like that elusive name that dances on the fringes of my mind, everyone’s background music turns sinister.
As I follow along this golden path, I find the interpretation of things I say, morphs. Things to do with memory, energy or physical health are suddenly expressions that bring a frown of concern.
Offhand comments of an entire lifetime begin to take on a disturbing quality. “I forgot,” “I’m tired,” and a simple “Ouch, that hurts,” produce reactions when said in “old-speak” and heard by “young-speak.”
As I scroll those baby pictures with nostalgia in my heart, I cannot help but feel like just yesterday it was my baby and I was on the floor tickling her belly and listening to her laugh. Today it is a great grandchild squealing and gurgling. Sands of time, once leisurely sifting, now pour.
In a history of Judah’s decline as a nation, when idolatry angered and broke the heart of God, He responded to them as a loving and committed Father. The kind of paternal image on the floor with us.
“Even to your old age I am he, and to gray hairs I will carry you. I have made, and I will bear; I will carry and will save. (Isaiah 46:4 ESV)
And this softness, this carrying from the womb to the grave that I watch cycle through generations, reminds me of God’s parenting. Of His tenderness through the years, of His faithful carrying from generation to generation.
How beautiful the image of my great-grandson laughing, cradled in the arms of his parents. How faithful the testimony of God who carries the gray headed wrapped in His arms and blanketed in decades of love.
I see myself differently now than I did once. Others do too, but how does God see me? He saw me with a baby face, He sees me with the mapped lines of passing years. He saw me when tears fell from nothing, and when they flowed from much. And He has loved me always.
It’s good to remember the miraculous parting of our Red Seas, as well as the paths we’ve walked through the valley of the shadow of death. These layers of our history of life are unique and individual proofs of His care. They testify to generations not yet born of His daily care. Of constant lovingkindness.
“So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day.” (2 Corinthians 4:16 ESV)
The years ahead of me are ones for the brave and courageous. They are years to learn laughter in the parking lot and at the name spinning slightly out of reach. They bring to mind a Father who made me and cradled me. One who remains with me to the end and saves me with His love.
These are years to learn to laugh again.
Gurgles of giggles from the screen on my phone remind me Who carried me then, will carry me yet. His arms are steady. His grip is sure. A baby’s tiny pursed lips and twinkling eyes fill my heart with joy and point me to look upward.These are years to learn to laugh again Share on X
“So even to old age and gray hairs, O God, do not forsake me, until I proclaim your might to another generation, your power to all those to come.” (Psalm 71:18 ESV)
And in this journey I feel the marvelous belly laughter rising in me through this baby’s reminder. There is a Father whose amazing love carries me still.
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