A month ago, as I tucked in my youngest granddaughter for the night, she asked me to sing her a song. Which song, I asked? Twinkle Twinkle? Row your boat? Jesus loves me? I began singing, "Jesus loves me, this I know, for the..." and suddenly she blurts out, “Grandma, Mommy says Jesus is not real.” I tried to reassure her that certainly, Jesus IS real, but she became agitated and said she had to go see Mommy. So I changed the subject and sang Twinkle, Twinkle, told her I love her, kissed her on the head, and closed her door for the night.
I was at a loss. Understandably upset at that innocent proclamation, I went into the kitchen and sat down next to my daughter, and, with tears in my eyes, told her what just happened. Did she really tell her daughter that? That Jesus is not real? Why? How? Didn't she know how important my relationship with Jesus is? And how I ached to share that with her, with all my children, and with my grandchildren? What harm was there in singing songs, telling her basics about God, raising her to....wait...raising her? My days of raising children were through; it was up to my children to raise their own children.Not me. And then it hit me. It wasn't just my granddaughter's soul I was worried about--it was my daughter's.
We talked for quite a while--well, actually she talked, and I listened, with an open mind. And after that extremely awkward and difficult conversation, I realized I was superimposing my beliefs, my child-rearing principles, where they did not belong. I was circumventing my daughter’s role, and in doing that, jeopardizing my standing as a trusted grandparent. This made me stop in my tracks, reexamine my role as a grandma, reevaluate goals, and think about the legacy I should leave for them. The answer?
Because Jesus is Love.
And if Love is real.
He is real.
I was at a loss. Understandably upset at that innocent proclamation, I went into the kitchen and sat down next to my daughter, and, with tears in my eyes, told her what just happened. Did she really tell her daughter that? That Jesus is not real? Why? How? Didn't she know how important my relationship with Jesus is? And how I ached to share that with her, with all my children, and with my grandchildren? What harm was there in singing songs, telling her basics about God, raising her to....wait...raising her? My days of raising children were through; it was up to my children to raise their own children.Not me. And then it hit me. It wasn't just my granddaughter's soul I was worried about--it was my daughter's.
We talked for quite a while--well, actually she talked, and I listened, with an open mind. And after that extremely awkward and difficult conversation, I realized I was superimposing my beliefs, my child-rearing principles, where they did not belong. I was circumventing my daughter’s role, and in doing that, jeopardizing my standing as a trusted grandparent. This made me stop in my tracks, reexamine my role as a grandma, reevaluate goals, and think about the legacy I should leave for them. The answer?
Make Jesus real. Love them and their parents. Respect them and their parents. Share myself with them, be with them, and again, love them,
And through all that, maybe, just maybe, I could, somehow,
Make Jesus real.
And through all that, maybe, just maybe, I could, somehow,
Make Jesus real.
Because Jesus is Love.
And if Love is real.
He is real.
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