The Grace of Grandparenting
Kathy Coffey
Why are some people given the chance to grandparent? Maybe to grow closer to God later in life or to find their truest selves. Saint Ignatius believed God had a unique dream for each of us, and surely grandparenting brings out our best: people can become surprisingly patient, kind, and relaxed—still, of course, with the usual flaws. In this role, we rediscover that even those who make serious mistakes can still be channels for grace.
Many people never get the chance to grandparent. But for those to whom it is given, what joy! The Bible speaks of seeing one’s children’s children as life’s greatest blessing. We’re grateful not only for the beautiful babies but for who we become.
Transformation and a Sweeter Side
God often uses this period late in human life as a period of transformation. Even the most cantankerous and seemingly self-absorbed personalities suddenly discover a sweeter side in adopting the role of grandparent. The stern may spoil relentlessly. The introvert shares photos, cute sayings, and stories. Those who thought their physical ailments were paralyzing sprints after the toddler heading for the street or hoisting a grandchild on a jungle gym or a steep slide may discover new strength. As a child grows in wisdom, age, and grace (Luke 2:40), we get to marvel. Miraculously, we can grow gradually into God’s generous self, finding a spaciousness to love and give freely without the time constraints and financial demands we bore as parents.
While some may think of aging in terms of diminishment, grandparenting creates a larger life. Of course, the physical dimming is undeniable: Have I lost my glasses again? And why can’t I remember why I came upstairs? But the energy and new dimensions that come with grandparenting bring a resurgence of another type of vitality. It may not be youth’s “five-mile run before breakfast,” but it sure is a chance to make an imprint.
In grandchildren, hope is made visible, tangible, a promise that what we’ve worked a lifetime to become will live on. Whether it’s a love of reading or music, rocks, tennis, swimming, spreadsheets, sewing, or whatever—all our finest abilities and interests may somehow be passed to the future. What a blessed glimpse of our own immortality! The ultimate transformation may help grandparents with the challenge Fr. Thomas Keating describes in his book The Human Condition: “If we have not experienced ourselves as unconditional love, we have more work to do, because that is who we really are.”
A Larger Life
One evening during a beach vacation, I saw all fourteen of my family members silhouetted against the vast sea and sky. It gave me a sense of being a part of something far larger than myself, but it was also something that couldn’t have happened without me.
I get the same sense when I pick up my grandchildren from school or day care. They run headlong across the room, bowling over smaller children in their way, yelling, “Grammy!” as if the queen of England had just arrived with her magic pumpkin coach. The hug is enough to knock down frail figures—I quickly learn to brace for its force.
Sometimes, as I walk two children—hands planted firmly in mine—to school in the fresh morning air filled with birdsong, I feel this is my truest—my best—identity. What a gift it is to feel a small hand in ours. Sometimes enforced and out of fear (in parking lots), but sometimes happily, freely given out of the blue. Being a grandparent is among the many marvels God has done in me: I’ve survived this long, lived through much, and these small people rely on me!
We learn by contrast, too, as I did when I saw a woman reeking of self-importance. During a sunny Sunday in the park, she played some game where runners followed markers, calling them out to each other. Muscled and tattooed, she’d bellow, “Two above!” or “One under!” as if the planet’s survival depended on the clue. I cringed to think how much she resembled my younger self. In a business suit and heels, I’d stand at the podium addressing 100 people as if I spoke the words of everlasting life. My schedule was important; indeed, every minute was. No time for dilly-dallying! Now that I’ve grown up, I want to list on my resume in bold print an important role I now hold: I am often “base” for games of tag.
Smiling wryly, I turned to my current companions, ages six and eight. Their mom had COVID and their dad was exhausted from a week juggling child care and remote work. We’d gone to the park to give everyone a break. Spattered and streaked with mud, they were inexplicably gathering large armfuls of grass, “winter provisions.” For diversion, they’d swing gleefully on the rope swing or balance on the log crossing the dry creek bed. They were totally absorbed for two and a half hours, while I practiced being present in the moment, not analyzing, judging, or categorizing. By the time we got home, they were pleasantly tired, wanting only to snuggle on the couch while I read aloud The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane by our new favorite author, Kate DiCamillo.
I fell asleep that night praying the mantra, “God, grow me into your dream.” Some might have thought my afternoon with small, “insignificant” people was a waste of time. They weren’t Board Members or Influencers or VIPs. Couldn’t I have done something more productive than stare up at the redwoods and keep track of a pink sweatshirt and a green baseball cap? But maybe this is how, inch by inch, God forms us into the likeness of God’s self: big lap, endless forgiveness, and relaxed, happy attention to what is.
The school of grandparenting has no grades, exams, or anxiety-inducing requirements. It seems to be more the kind of place where we become people the littlest and most vulnerable want to hang out with. In our radius, no judgment or criticism—only broad acceptance, and maybe wiping off a bit of mud. If I were to share a cuppa with God at the end of a day such as this, we’d both probably put our feet up on the porch rail and grin broadly.
The Papal Seal of Approval
Children and the elderly build the future of peoples: children because they lead history forward, the elderly because they transmit the experience and wisdom of their lives.
Pope Francis,
Aparecida document, 447
Pope Francis has long been a big fan of grandparents. In his prayer video for December 2017, Pope Francis prayed for grandparents and the elderly, urging people to respect and support them: “A people that does not take care of grandparents, that does not treat them well, has no future! The elderly have wisdom.” At a gathering of about 7,000 grandparents on October 15, 2016, he repeated: “You are an important presence, because your experience is a precious treasure, essential to looking to the future with hope and responsibility.” Now, to live up to his generous description!
The vantage point of grandparenting connects us to the past and future, remembering our own ancestors and looking forward to the world our grandchildren will inherit. It’s a unique perspective, like standing on a mountaintop. It also attunes us to details we might otherwise miss. Some, seeing the first slight rain after a long dry spell, might say, “That’s nice,” then hurry along through the rest of their day. But for those fortunately accompanied by small children, it’s an event: break out the boots, brollies, and raincoats! The walk to school becomes a magic path. Along the way, the spider webs, like delicate crystal chalices, hold jewels of rain. We speculate on the fairy’s formal ball that must have happened there last night, and the world is briefly an enchanted place.
The Innate Dignity
In spring 2022, when the world’s attention focused on Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, one story especially captivated grandparents. Natalya Dyachok, a native Ukrainian, lived safely in San Francisco with her husband, Petro, a Ukrainian Catholic priest.
When the war began, she decided to leave safety and return to her daughter, two grandsons, and son-in-law. Her daughter, a registered nurse, hoped to help with the wounded and stay with her husband, who prepared to fight. Petro said of his wife, “I can’t close [her] Ukrainian heart, and in one day I had a ticket for her.” Her journey to Ukraine through Hungary took four days, with customs officers along the route suggesting she was going the wrong way. Her answer was simple, and probably understandable only to parents and grandparents: “I’m going home. I have children there.”
Her story gave new meaning to the often-quoted or -sung passage from Isaiah: “Can a mother forget her infant, be without tenderness for the child of her womb? Even should she forget, I will never forget you” (Isaiah 49:15).
At the other end of the age spectrum, Skye is but seven, yet on the first day of summer day camp looks for her friend from school. Delighted to glimpse Ben, she runs to give him a giant hug. Ben, on the other hand, is terrified. His mother tries to walk hobbled as he clings to her leg. Gradually, Skye peels him away, snuggles him beside her, opens her lunch box with bravado and reveals the tantalizing contents. This seemingly does the trick. Somehow, knowing there will be provisions calms Ben down. He relaxes his tight grip on Mom and enters the camp experience. Skye has tapped into a primal need. Sometimes when I anticipate a difficult day, I reassure myself: lentil soup for lunch! And that oatmeal cookie I’ve been saving….
How does a little girl instinctively recognize fear, tap into the deep need for security, and practice such graciousness? Of course, some model healthy parents or older siblings who’ve shown what to do in new situations. But something of that brave kindness also springs from an inner well. We want to believe in the divine indwelling. We read how our finest gifts gush forth from God’s presence in us. With surprise and delight, we recognize that dynamic in a small child.
It sometimes takes a living, concrete example to show us God, which is perhaps why Jesus chose a toddler as a model for his disciples. These littles who can’t read, add, write, nor reel off a list of accomplishments have a birthright of natural grace. They aren’t paralyzed when they don’t yet know how to walk. They play, lurching and tumbling until it gets easier. They aren’t overwhelmed by the world of adults; they simply make their secure nest within it. They never become impatient or exasperated by their miniature size or minimal skills. They simply accept reality as it is, full of contradiction. Seeing such confidence in them, we are captivated and perhaps renewed in hope for ourselves and the human species.
As people age, it may be tempting to dwell in the dear, familiar past. But gently—with wonderfully sticky, jam-stained hands—grandchildren turn our faces to the future.
Kathy Coffey has written award-winning books and many articles in Catholic periodicals, including America, U.S. Catholic, St. Anthony Messenger, Catholic Update, Everyday Catholic and National Catholic Reporter.
