Leaps of Faith!

I've had a few career changes over the years.  My first full time job was as a legal secretary, not glamorous and not where I expected to land, either.  But then, I also had two boys in under a year and degree from the Nike University (as in, Just Do It).  The more traditionally recognized graduation waited for another child, a mortgage and 10 years...  In time, I because a trust officer, before I switched directions entirely to design houses.  Now, after another change, I carry licenses with numbers only recognizable to others in the financial planning sphere.  A door closes and another opens.  It's not the path my high school self planned, but then, high school selves are not known for being the sharpest crayons in the tool shed...

It got me to thinking about transitions.  Some happen almost without notice.  It might feel like a natural progression, but when you stop to glance back, you see that the route taken was neither planned nor linear.  Other changes are more like jumping over chasms formed by earthquakes.  You are going merrily along your way and when the earth rumbles, and opens, and threatens to engulf you.  You must leap into uncertainly with all your might or succumb to an unthinkable fate.  So, you take flight, hoping for the best.  "Best" can be a qualitative term.

I had the good fortune of waiting until adulthood before being required to launch myself toward the other side of a chasm of unfathomable depth and width.  In fact, I remember that first leap when my eldest son was life flighted to an ICU unit.  My first vivid thought was, "I'm not old enough to do this.  I want my Mommy!"  Much to my surprise, I landed safely on the other side, though most assuredly, it was not due to my superior leaping ability.  I had help.  Thank you, Jesus!

Some of my grand-loves, though, have had to face chasms of their own at ages far too tender.  Death, divorce and ill-health have burst upon them unwittingly and unwanted.  It's not that they were left to fend for themselves at such a time.  Many who love them have gathered around, shaken themselves by the devastation, but focused on the little loves before themselves.  Still, there is no way to insulate them from their ground that has rumbled and split.  Love, it seems, cannot always provide a soft landing, or at least not soft enough.

That's a lot of rambling for a Tuesday - or any other day, I guess.  No, there are no new events in the offing, but it just won't stop tumbling around in my head - my own private earthquake between the ears.  Granmas are supposed to be cookies and sweetness and kissing boo-boos - little boo-boos.  In my third generation of lives, I still don't know how to make hurts disappear when kisses and tickles don't work.

I am left with one possible remedy, the one that worked the first time around.  So as I run as fast as I can and leap as far as I can, with arms outstretched to catch and hold the objects of my utmost affection, my heart cries out for assistance.  

Dear Jesus, who loves the little children, all the children of the world.  Please help me to shower extra love on my grand-ones.  And from my heart and from Yours above, please let love be enough.  Amen.