Eight thousand days

Playing around with the Wolframalpha site where calculations are easy.

If our new grandson David decides to be like his Dad and his Mom's Dad and go to A&M and be in the band...he would be putting on his boots at a senior at A&M in 8,000 days.

I know that life with a newborn is challenging. Tiring. Being alert 24/7. With what seems like no end in sight...but it passes too quickly. Soon they are grown. And we literally work ourselves out of a job. God gives us a precious little baby and we get to hold them, feed them, teach them, and watch them grow. At age 18, they are technically, legally adults. They go away to college, and we still get to help financially, and encourage them, but they are mostly done with us by then. ha

In eight thousand days, David may be putting on those senior boots and march into the now old Cowboy Stadium. Having met the girl of his dreams...and wondering why there are tears in our eyes.

All this to say...we have the gift of our children for such a short time. Though they wear you out, and though you can't wait for the next stage when they can sit up or eat regular food or walk or quit playing in the potty... my prayer for my sons and their wives: I pray you enjoy each moment. Each day. Each week, and milestone. I hope and pray that when they no longer need you that you look back with fond memories, cute stories, and a legacy of love and pictures in your mind as well as albums brimming with the gifts of each day, each moment.

Let us not rush through life. Let us savor each day as a gift.

I remember standing at Kyle Field watching Andy go back inside the stadium with the light shining out around him in the golden glow of sunset and hearing the roar of the crowd thinking---this is what heaven must be like: the glad celebration of being together, great music, great Light, Love, happy for Andy to be doing what he enjoyed, all grown up... but the light coming into the Cowboy Stadium was intrusive, mean, too bright and it blinded the players, and coaches, and fans. I wondered why the stadium was aligned to catch that light. That light is a weapon. Part of me also hopes heaven is like the quiet scene of getting to hold and kiss a tiny baby on the head. And marvel at the miracle they are. We would no more take a baby onto a crowded football field as it is a dangerous place, even for padded players. But, I think it is okay to raise a child in light of where they might go and what they might decide to become. It is not my choice, for my place now is in the stands. Cheering. Dreaming.

We want God's Best, God's plan for each of our children and grandchildren. My Mother's Dad lived to be almost 100 years old. 36,000 days. Two of my great-grandmothers lived into their ninties. And my grandchildren are being born one hundred years from their great grandparents---so even as Abby's birthday was 2007, so her great-great grandpa's was 1908. And David's birthday year, close to one hundred years from his great-grandmas. Neat math. So, if the Lord does not come back for another fifty years, my great-grandchildren will be born close to one hundred years from my birthday. (give or take 15 years) Even as my great-greats were born in the 1850s.