My first grandbaby was placed in my arms ten days ago. Fresh from God, complete with ten fingers and ten toes, a full head of hair and working lungs, she brought with her a lingering fragrance from Heaven.
Though we’ve only just met, I can tell you right here and now that there is nothing I would not do for her. To prove it, I’ve just assembled a Baby Einstein plaything that I was given. It didn’t come with instructions, but it only had six pieces, so how hard could it be?
Well, harder than I like to admit. I lay the pieces out and tried to make sense of them, but as I did not know what it was supposed to look like when it was complete, I had no recourse but to snap and unsnap pieces at random.
Everything turned out to be a dead-end. I kept starting over. I reminded myself that this is a BABY Einstein activity center I am assembling. Surely anyone with an education and a little common sense should be able to snap that sucker together in two minutes flat.
Finally, it occurred to me to go online, find the item in question and use the big picture to inform my assembly.
This decision worked like a charm. When I saw how the plaything was intended to function, I was able to make sense of the pieces, plugging each disparate detail into a cohesive overall design. I acknowledge a private sense of vindication when it became apparent I’d been given an extra piece that never would have fit anyway.
Similarly, I am finding that it helps to gather up the sharp moments of unexpected grief, the low-level loneliness, the wistfulness, the healed places, everything I’m feeling these days, and refer to the big picture revealed in Scripture.
We all look for something to help us make sense of life. The advice I’d read in Cosmopolitan, if I read Cosmopolitan, would differ from the advice I’d hear on The View, if I watched The View, which would differ still from the philosophers of the ages or even my neighbors next door. I need a final, unerring authority to give me the big picture on place of suffering and pain in this life. I find that in the word of God, the Bible. It’s honest, it’s hopeful, it’s trustworthy.
So while I confess I would like my old life back, I also acknowledge that God does all things well, and is working out every detail of life for good. I would like to go home to Jack and talk with him about our fresh new grandbaby. I would like to hear him chuckle as he sees our son tenderly love on his wife and daughter. I would like to see that little one held securely in his honest, calloused hands.
But since I can’t, I will be thankful for what I can do. I can breathe with her, and read with her. I can sing and pray and play with her, even after she has moved beyond her Baby Einstein days.
And I plan to give her a Bible so she gets the big picture.