After driving for over seven hours, we are stopped in a mile-long jam, a half-hour short of home. I am thankful we’d made a bathroom stop not long before. And I am especially thankful that the sirens squeezing by on the shoulder of these three lanes of trucks and cars are not coming for me. I send up a prayer for whoever is the object of this commotion and settle in for the wait.
We’d driven the four-hundred+ miles to Virginia to see our ten-year-old granddaughter in a school chorus production. Neither set of grandparents has ever gone to one of her school functions because both live in the South, so my husband and I decided to “just do it.”
But as we were happily motoring north, (I kept Bob engaged in the long haul by reading Joel Rosenberg’s, The Third Target) a snowstorm was barreling up the east coast. We arrived the day before it did. It just skimmed the D.C. area. Just enough. Just enough so that when we woke on the day of the concert, we learned School Was Closed.
Our granddaughter may have been the only child in that multi-state swath of snow who was utterly crushed to have a snow day. She had treasured this visit—this first time of having her relatives in the audience. I’d suspected it was important, but I hadn’t realized how much.
I dug back—way back—trying to remember how I felt about my moments “on stage.” Usually my parents couldn’t come to school functions, but those times they did, or at least Mom did, I remember searching the crowd for her face—for her smile of pride that puffed up my own and made me feel I was the star of the show.
Such a little thing—to just show up.
Such a big a big thing—to just show up.
Well, we didn’t let the change in plans stint our merry-making. (Bob is any child’s delight, being full of silliness.) And all was not lost.
The concert was rescheduled for next Monday. I cannot be there this time. She knows I’ll be there in spirit, but I have an idea about how to send my proxy. It’s kind of corny. Well, ok. More than kind of. (see above pic)
I’m sure my granddaughter won’t want her mother to pull me out and wave me about during the concert. But I think she’ll secretly smile to see me there.
Got somebody in your life who’d be really happy to hear from you today?
The little things.
They’re a big deal.
Blessings abundant, friends,
In the joy of the Lord
I love this post, Marcia. Perhaps it's because we too have a granddaughter states away and only a handful of years away from school productions. What a beautiful reminder to tuck away for future reference. She's blessed to have both you and Bob as grandparents.ReplyDelete
Thanks Cathy. These days of world-wide living we really have to be inventive about grandparenting--and knowing you, I'm sure that will happen.ReplyDelete
What a creative and memorable solution in showing your granddaughter that you would be there if you could. Yes, just showing up makes a big difference to the little ones.ReplyDelete
Helmut and I couldn't make it from Dallas to Jackson, TN one time. Our youngest grandson had his own solution. He jumped on his tricycle and started peddling. The problem was he didn't tell his mother his plan. All she knew was he was missing. After looking for him in the house and around the house, she jumped in the car to look for him. Just at the end of the neighborhood she saw him. "What are you doing?" she asked from her car window. "I'm going to Grandmommy."
Thanks for sharing this story with us, Marcia.
Thanks Carolyn. And so glad his mother caught him before he hit the highway!Delete
Love this story Marcia. I am so so thankful to now be living near my married son with a new grandchild. Now I can show up for everything and do my best to embarrass and delight.ReplyDelete