Sure, you'll say that I fall in love far too easily. Sure, you'll say I'm a sucker for a pretty face, a passionate personality, and an unrelenting spirit.
You're right.
I've never turned away from the violin of a woman's music, whether it be drifting in invisible notes close by or calling to me from somewhere down the hall.
I confess that not every experience has endured. I confess that I may be no judge of what is cosmetically beautiful, but I have never been uncertain about the true, everlasting beauty of life and living.
By the grace of the miracle of birth, we are given the opportunity to discover beauty time and again. We are given the opportunity to share in something extraordinary, something overwhelming, something that affirms what we always knew, but may have never been truly able to articulate.
Babies are born. Babies are born every minute of every day, all around the world. They slip into the lives of other families, into worlds so distant and remote from our own that we rarely take notice of their importance to the world.
Once, maybe twice, maybe three times or even more, we are the fathers or mothers of these babies. Sometimes, we are their grandfathers, grandmothers, uncles, aunts, brothers or sisters. It is then that we realise how this miracle of birth unfolds like a summer's day and envelopes us in its warm sunshine. We wake from the sleep of our dreamy hopefulness and uncertain anticipation of the future to discover the breath of life's continuity, the cry of victory that heralds the very consummation of a faith that life, no matter how cruelly tenuous, carries on.
Some will say, "It takes a village to raise a child."
I say, "It takes a child to raise a village."
For it is the child, venturing into the chaos of our lives, who teaches us to celebrate all that brought us to this moment. It is the child, who paints the masterpiece of renewal over the cracked plaster of every tragedy we have endured. It is the child who knows that, when one story ends, another waits to be told.
Today, tomorrow, and every day following, how can I help but celebrate the arrival of my fourth grandchild, Charlotte? She has opened the door that lets the light in.
You're right.
I've never turned away from the violin of a woman's music, whether it be drifting in invisible notes close by or calling to me from somewhere down the hall.
I confess that not every experience has endured. I confess that I may be no judge of what is cosmetically beautiful, but I have never been uncertain about the true, everlasting beauty of life and living.
By the grace of the miracle of birth, we are given the opportunity to discover beauty time and again. We are given the opportunity to share in something extraordinary, something overwhelming, something that affirms what we always knew, but may have never been truly able to articulate.
Babies are born. Babies are born every minute of every day, all around the world. They slip into the lives of other families, into worlds so distant and remote from our own that we rarely take notice of their importance to the world.
Once, maybe twice, maybe three times or even more, we are the fathers or mothers of these babies. Sometimes, we are their grandfathers, grandmothers, uncles, aunts, brothers or sisters. It is then that we realise how this miracle of birth unfolds like a summer's day and envelopes us in its warm sunshine. We wake from the sleep of our dreamy hopefulness and uncertain anticipation of the future to discover the breath of life's continuity, the cry of victory that heralds the very consummation of a faith that life, no matter how cruelly tenuous, carries on.
Some will say, "It takes a village to raise a child."
I say, "It takes a child to raise a village."
For it is the child, venturing into the chaos of our lives, who teaches us to celebrate all that brought us to this moment. It is the child, who paints the masterpiece of renewal over the cracked plaster of every tragedy we have endured. It is the child who knows that, when one story ends, another waits to be told.
Today, tomorrow, and every day following, how can I help but celebrate the arrival of my fourth grandchild, Charlotte? She has opened the door that lets the light in.
© Copyright, Kennedy James. All rights reserved.
There must be a word like honeymoon but not about husband and wife, but rather about grandfather and child. Congratulations, Kennedy!It is a wonderful news. Tell her :Welcome to the world, from me…:)
ReplyDeleteRoger that ...
DeleteI can certainly see why you are smitten. I used to call my oldest grandson "my boyfriend" still do sometimes :)
ReplyDeletecongratulations!!!
DeleteThanks, Danette ... ;o}
DeleteEach time you write about your children and grandchildren, you touch my heart in ways I never thought were possible. Your beautiful children have grown up to have beautiful children of their own. You are a good father, a good grandfather, and a very good man. Welcome to this world, sweet baby Charlotte ...
ReplyDeleteJust a streak of good luck, I think ...
DeleteA beautiful child, for sure. Congratulations, Kennedy.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Jeanie ... ;o}
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