Grandparenting with Grace: A Special Role

Ready to spend an easy 4 minutes weekly towards growth? This Lent’s topic is grandparenting, which is a bit more focused than some other years. It might seem irrelevant to people who aren’t grandparents yet, but we all had grandparents, and we all can be grandparent-like to other children. How did you feel about your grandparents? Loved them? Barely knew them? Are you blessed enough that they are still in this life? If you are in the throes of parenting now, how would you like your parents to grandparent your children? What do you wish they knew or would do? Or not do? It might make a very interesting, productive conversation.

I hope you hold fond memories of your grandparents. My maternal grandmother could be funny but also reserved and wise. I still find her adages coming out of my mouth 20 years after she passed. My grandfather was playful, cautious, and dedicated to his family. My heart warms each time I think of standing on his feet while we danced when I was very little.

Perhaps you don’t have memories of some of your grandparents, but stories about them were part of your upbringing. I was told I took after my grandmother’s mother, and that made me feel proud, for I knew my grandmother admired her. Other greats- and grandparents brought their faith to this country amid difficult trials and that made me value my faith all the more. Our parents’ parents are an integral part of us.

According to The Catholic Grandparents Handbook, by Lorene Hanley Duquin, grandparents serve different roles in different families, from preserver of family legacy, to mentor, teacher, nurturer, role model, and even playmate. The relationship is a treasure, and grandparents hold a special place in the hearts of their grandchildren. Unlike parents, grandparents don’t have to focus on expectations of the life the child will lead in the future. They can focus on who the child is right now and how wonderful he or she already is! And isn’t that part of the joy of grandparenting? We don’t in most cases have the responsibility that parents do to challenge their children to be the best they can be. As grandparents, we get to always be their cheerleaders and encouragers while reminding them that they are perfectly lovable just the way they are.

They need us. Yes, in every child’s experience there are times when they haven’t pleased their parents, or when the responsibility to discipline means the child isn’t very happy with their parents. At these times grandparents are a safe haven where they know they are always loved, no matter what they do. If grandchildren feel their grandparents’ unconditional love, they can flourish and will remember us warmly.

And we need them. According to psychologist Erik Erikson, each stage of our lives has a lesson for us to master if we want to continue to mature well. The age span between 40-65, when most people become grandparents for the first time, is a period for us to share our knowledge with others create something that will last beyond us—a time of generativity, as opposed to stagnation. We have a need to make the world a better place in some way. So, grandchildren can be a source of generativity for us as we “pass on” our faith, wisdom, love, and understanding. What better way to make the world a better place than helping to form a generation who learns something from us that endures?

What legacy will we leave to our grandchildren? I hope mine will remember I loved them unconditionally and taught them something spiritual or wise. Perhaps my words will come to their lips unbidden.

One of the hardest parts of this time of quarantine, for me and many others, has been our isolation from our grandchildren. I miss our hugs, setting little ones on my lap, or cuddling up to read a story. We’ve come to appreciate how very important our relationship is, now that health dangers keep us apart. So, while we avoid the hugs and snuggles we long for and wait for our vaccines, we have time to ask ourselves, “What type of grandparents do we want to be?”

I’ve found that a movement has begun sporadically across our nation as churches begin to see that grandparenting as a ministry could use more attention. Parishes might have marriage classes, parenting speakers, education for children and teens, and maybe even social gatherings for senior groups, but little to this point for the ministry of grandparenting. And from what I hear, we could use some support, especially as we struggle to know how to handle such challenges as:

So, let’s spend the next few weeks thinking about grandparenting and how to make the most of it. We can review some pitfalls to avoid, and perhaps offer ideas to enhance what we are already doing. We can open the conversation with our friends and see what we can learn.

Wisdom nugget: “One of the best things you can do for your grandchildren is to love their parents!” Larry E McCall

May God bless your week.

Betty Arrigotti

Author of Christian Love Stories, available at Amazon:

• Hope and a Future (Marriage
• Where Hope Leads (Premarriage)
• When the Vow Breaks (Family Secrets)
• Their Only Hope (Standing Up to Evil)
• Miriam’s Joy! (Virgin Mary Visits Us)

A Final Night Shift

A little Easter bonus…

Miriam walked in the dark along paths edged with budding rhododendrons, azaleas, and unspiraling ferns, beneath giant evergreens. She remembered warmly a little boy who had asked her to intercede for his mother as she lay near death after the birth of his tiny sister. Both mother and child had lived, and years later the boy, by then Father Ambrose Mayer, had built this Portland place of peace and refuge, the National Sanctuary of Our Sorrowful Mother, as a sign of his gratitude. Arriving at a stone grotto carved into a 100-foot basalt cliffside, she settled onto a kneeler before a white statue replica of Michelangelo’s Pietà that depicted Mary holding the body of her Son after His crucifixion.

Her thoughts focused on the statue and beyond it to her experience of that devastating moment. She ached anew with the anguish of holding her Son’s lifeless adult body upon her lap. But the pain didn’t stand alone, for alongside it was boundless gratitude for the sacrifice her Son had made to redeem all her children.

His was no quick death. He had suffered intensely on that final day: whipping, beating, humiliation, a piercing thorny crown shoved down upon his brow, dragging a heavy beam—not to be honed into something sturdy and functional like He and Joseph had built—but wood of torture and death, and then, oh then—she still could hear the terrible blows—the pounding of spikes to peg His hands and feet to the cross, His groans as the cross was lifted and dropped into its hole, the draining of His strength over three hours while she stayed within His gaze, before His forgiving words, His release of His Spirit, and the final thrust of a spear that confirmed He was dead.

She could feel the tears trailing her cheeks as they had countless times when she commemorated His suffering and death. She remembered following His footsteps on the Way of the Cross, or the Via Dolorosa, in order to ponder the mysteries of His death. She wept for the wounds people today continue to inflict on her Son: the commandments they break, their refusal to center their lives around the One who loves them, their selfishness that hurts the ones around them. She cried for the pain her beloved children experienced at the hands of her other, also-beloved children.

Yet, she forced herself to remember His resurrection! For as surely as He had died, He had also risen.

The dawning sun brightened the sky above the Grotto and drew her gaze heavenward. His resurrection was the culmination of those three agonizing days when her Son was lost to her.

He rose and returned to her!

At this thought, her soul leapt within her and her joy resurged. For as deep as her sorrow had been—and still was when she pondered His suffering—her joy was even greater. He lived! He had conquered not only death, but sin and evil. That was the purpose behind His suffering, and what a joyous gift it was to all who welcomed it, who welcomed Him into their hearts. The thought reminded Miriam of her countless children who do strive to follow God’s path.

Exultation encompassed Miriam, and she lifted her love to her God and thanked Him with her whole being. God—Father, Son, and Spirit—God was infinitely good. God was all Love, and she was entirely His. All her children were God’s, and she would work tirelessly for them to realize that, so they could share in her Joy.

A young priest passed behind Miriam on his way to celebrate the first Mass of the day. He had been struggling with depression and loneliness and had knelt a few feet behind the praying woman to ask God to give him strength.

He watched Miriam raise her arms and listened while she sang with great elation:

My soul magnifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God, my Savior…

for He has looked with favor on His humble servant.

From this day all generations will call me blessed,

the Almighty has done great things for me,

and holy is His Name.

He has mercy on those who fear Him

in every generation.

He has shown the strength of His arm,

He has scattered the proud in their conceit.

He has cast down the mighty from their thrones,

and has lifted up the humble.

He has filled the hungry with good things,

and the rich He has sent away empty.

He has come to the help of his servant Israel

for He has remembered his promise of mercy,

the promise He made to our fathers,

to Abraham and his children forever.

Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit,

as it was in the beginning, is now, and will be forever.

Amen. Alleluia!

The sun crested the grotto edge, temporarily blinding the young priest. When he shaded his eyes with his hand, the woman was gone.

Yet, such ecstasy had risen in him as he overheard her words that simply recalling the experience overcame any emergence of darkness in his mood for all his remaining years of life.

7 Bury the Dead

How fitting that we come to our final Corporal Work of Mercy, Bury the Dead, on Good Friday.

We could take this less literally and let die those weaknesses inside us that we keep alive: our anger, jealousy, bitterness, unwillingness to forgiven, bad habits, addictions, etc. However, even taken literally, the exhortation to Bury the Dead encompasses more people than our respected morticians.

We all ponder the big questions when the unexpectedness of death suddenly strikes an ordinary day. Even if we weren’t close to the one who died, we re-experience our own loss of loved ones. It’s as if grief, for a while, is cumulative. A death makes us reconsider our life. Why am I here? What purpose should I be pursuing while I still have time? What happens after death? Will I see my loved one again?

We bury the dead when we:

• Attend memorial services, where we honor the memory of the one who has passed and support the families in their recovery. It means so much to a grieving family to see the number of people who attend as a living memorial to their loved one, or as a sign of promised support to themselves.
• Send a sympathy card with a note, perhaps including a happy memory of the deceased.
• Provide a simple service to the grieving family. I’ve heard of one person delivering a case of toilet paper to a home in preparation for visiting family. Another gave a book of stamps, anticipating the thank you notes that would be written and mailed. One woman offered to babysit the youngest children during the funeral. Another offered to sit in the empty home during the service to ward off burglars who see the announcement in the paper.
• Call when travelling visitors have returned home and the grief stricken is suddenly very alone.
• Or, sit with the newly aggrieved and listen to their reminiscence about their loved one…

Night Shift

A middle-aged man sat on a boulder near a hiking trail gazing at a panorama of night sky. As the moon began to rise, he spoke aloud.

Thank you, heavenly Father, for all your gifts to us.

For the stars above us, the galaxies, and our solar system with its sun, moon, and planets.

For this earth and its beautiful oceans, mountains, forests, rivers, and waterfalls.

For our country and its dedication to freedom and justice.

For our ancestors, especially those who chose to uphold their faith and those who left their homes to make new homes here.

For our grandparents, aunts, uncles, and all the people we loved who have left this life. May we see them again in heaven.

For our parents who sacrificed to give us the life we have now.

Thank you for our siblings and our friends who helped make us the people we are today.

Thank you for our children, who make us proud as they grow into good people. Please draw them ever closer to you.

Thank you for my spouse, my beautiful wife, one of your greatest gifts to me, who loved me as deeply as I loved her…

“What a beautiful prayer!”

The man startled at the woman’s voice.

“May I sit down with you?”

He scooted to one side of the rock.

“You’ve chosen a lovely place to pray.”

He stared straight ahead, hoping if he didn’t answer she would leave him to his solitude. She didn’t move or speak then, but simply regarded the starry heavens as he had been doing. Finally, he gave up. “It was my father’s prayer. I used to only hear it when we were camping together. It was how he ended our conversation when we were lying in our sleeping bags under the stars.”

“You were close.”

“On camping trips, yes. At home we were both busy with our lives—his work, my studies—but out here was something else.”

“Your mother had passed on?”

“When I was in high school. He never remarried, or even dated that I know. They were devoted to each other, and I doubt anyone else could have filled her void.”

“And your father? You said it was his prayer.”

He looked at her then, and saw a serene woman, middle-aged, with amazing compassion in her eyes. “He died today.” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat.

She rested her hand on his. “I’m sorry for your loss and sadness. He must have been quite a man.”

“He was.” He nodded slowly. “He hasn’t said a word for over a year. Last night, I visited him in his care center, and he was talking to Mom. She wasn’t there, of course, but she was real to him. He was the happiest I’ve seen him in a long time. Then this morning he was gone. It was as if…”

“As if she’d come for him?”

He drew in a quick breath, for she had known just what he was thinking. He looked at her. “Do you think it’s possible?”

“I know it is,” she said. “And now they are both watching over you. They are together in the next life, and together in loving you, so proud of the man you’ve become and so grateful for how you took care of your father in his final years.”

“I wish I could have kept him at home with me.”

“He knows. And he knows you did what was best for him. Be at peace, Jonathon. All is well.”

She stood and continued down the trail before he wondered about her walking without a light, and before he realized he hadn’t told her his name.

(Excerpt from my Miriam’s Joy!, but the prayer was first spoken by my husband, George.)

May God bless your Easter and protect your health.