Grandfather
An obvious source of insight.
It’s happening more frequently now. I’m thinking of my grandparents, wondering what they were doing and what they thought about in their middle years. In 1953 one of my grandfathers died in a horrific farm accident. In 1958 the other grandfather was my same age now. It’s hard for me to imagine either grandfather held doubt about the world he knew, or was ever uncertain about his place within it. Both likely came to understand, as I’m just beginning to learn, how unwilling most of us are to embrace life’s ambiguity, allowing change to overtake us. The grandfather I knew lived for forty more years, long enough for me to witness the interior distances he traveled to become an enduring source of love and generativity.
Published in
- The Invitation · September 17‹ A SofteningAmazing Grace ›