A Thought for the Day - June 2, 2023
Next week my children finish middle school and elementary school. My son, the older one, looks me in the eye now. He outweighs me, has had bigger feet than me since he was 11, and now has bigger hands than I do. My daughter, the younger one, is maturing and bears little resemblance to the little girl I still see when I look at her.
I am overly sensitive, and quick to tears, whether they be happy tears or tears of grief; and sometimes happy tears and tears of grief can be the same. And, something about my children being closer to the age of adults than babies ignites memories of other things that have passed by.
There is a picture of my father and I on either side of my grandfather with my grandfather holding my son as a baby. There we were four generations in a photo, reminding me that at one time we were altogether. Likewise there is a picture of my great-grandmother holding me with my mother on one side and my grandmother on the other side; four generations all together at once.
Sometimes I look in the mirror and I can see pieces of my grandfather staring back at me. We aren’t the same at all. Such is the great joy of life, that each one of us is truly a miracle. But, such is the miracle of life that I can look at myself and see those long gone looking back at me.
Other times I look in the mirror and I can’t understand the one looking back at me. The mistakes made, the faults of character, the broken-hearts strewn across the wake of my life look back at me. Those times can feel overwhelming, as if the bad I’ve done in my life defines me.
But, the times I see my grandfather looking at me, and wonder if I am seeing other ancestors I don’t know looking at me too, I ponder the times they worried similar worried about themselves. But, enough of them chose love that I got to be here. They chose to love themselves despite themselves, and they accepted the love of others who knew that forgiveness is the core to love. I see them accept me.
My children don’t know everything about me. No one knows everything about me (myself included I suspect). Neither do I know everything about them. But, they are mine. Mine to love, mine to forgive, mine to support in whatever ways I can. Within them are my grandfather, my great-grandmother, and others who go back before time has memory. I don’t know them either, but I am them.
Sometimes I miss people that reminded me I am more glorious than I often believe. I hope we all have had such people in our lives. Sometimes my memories of them are sharp; sharp enough to slice through my skin and muscle and bone. I try to remember then how they loved me.
Then I do that for myself. I love me as they loved me. I love me as they loved life to get me and countless others to this point. When I do that, and look in the mirror, I sometimes smile and I see them smiling back at me. They like it when I love myself.
Everything is changing. It always does. Sometimes the changes are good. Sometimes the changes are the worst. When things change sometimes I miss what was, I miss those who loved me. If you ever feel that way, if you ever feel regret and grief and pain, love yourself harder. Somewhere all those who have loved you the most will smile and celebrate… now to celebrate my little ones who aren’t so little anymore so they will know that when I love myself harder I love everything else harder too.
Grace and Shalom,
Garrett