He's already two and a half, so that shouldn't be any surprise. But the way our summers go, it means I have lots of intensive time with grandkids near the beginning, and then only sporadic, quick hellos over the rest of July and August. It's not until September routines begin again, including our regular Wednesday nights, that we really get to spend enough time together. Because of the gap, I notice the growth spurts, especially when they're little.
And Jayden, over the summer, became quite the little communicator.
Two-word phrases, have become longer, more complex sentences. "Put your keys here Gramma", he tells me, reaching way up and patting a little hand on the surface of the small table inside the door where Mom and Dad leave theirs. "Come downstairs for the toys," he insists, taking my hand and pulling me along. Bringing me separated pieces of the Playmobil stables he says, "Fix it, please." And remembering something that happened yesterday his eyes get wide and serious as he recounts, "A big, black (said with a lot of 'l') spider on the wall!" When I ask what happened to it, he says enthusiastically, "We slapped it!" (also with a lot of 'l').
Gone are the days where everyone was simply "beeping" (sleeping), or he would ask for "waller" (water), or he would point outside and ask to go "side". (And to be honest, I miss the 'beeping' thing.)
Now he's a man with a wordy mission and isn't shy (at least with family) to speak his mind.
Within the span of just a few months, all this happened. And with Jayden, as with the others who are now way too big in my opinion (Abby especially, since she's taller than me at 13), I just want it to slow down!
(Sigh) They grow up so fast.
Did I mention that Abby is taller than me now?
It's not how I feel about every kind of growth, though.
This at-the-speed-of-light kind of transformation in toddlers is contrasted with another kind of growth that happens for adult me in what seems like excruciatingly small, slow (said with a lot of 'l') increments.
I'm speaking of my soul.
I'm talking about my spiritual formation.
Why can't things like wisdom, just as one example, take the same kinds of leaps and bounds in a matter of months as Jayden's vocabulary? Why is it that it seems to take so long to move on from the monosyllabic grunts of common courtesy, as another example, to the free-flowing sentences of fully-formed compassion? And, irony of irony, why does it take so long to learn the syntax of patience?
And before you gently remind me to be as patient with myself as I expect myself to be with others (good advice, so thank you), let me get to my point; something I've been pondering over and settling into over the past few months as I press onward in this rich and demanding stage of my life.
The forming of a soul cannot be rushed.
Unlike the speedy language neurons in a toddler's malleable brain, connecting experience A with insight B in the spiritual realm often takes its meandering, pensive way through much messy meditation before any progress is evident in the living-out of life.
What this means is that I, and others eager to be all God created them to be, find it to be a slow and plodding thing. Sometimes I get discouraged. I certainly have in the past. High expectations for everything, especially my speed of my spiritual formation. Hurry up and get wise, you soul you. Let's get on with the compassion thing. When will you ever, ever have this patience thing down!
But these days, in these rich days of my sixties, I think - I hope - I am more and more inclined just to let it all take it's time. At least it feels that way to me. Because that's how the real stuff happens. That's what gives it substance. No person possessing wisdom, compassion, patience got that way overnight. They've lived life. They've engaged their pain and joy with equal passion. They've been persistent and intentional about their soul-growth over the long haul.
This weekend Mom and Dad will be away, so I will have Jayden and the big kids too with me at our house. No doubt I will have a whole list of adorable things they have said and done to keep tucked away in my Gramma's heart, and/or to write down so I won't forget them. We're building memories. And I hope they remember these weekends at Gramma and Gradad's. I hope they remember the trampoline and having little plots of garden to themselves. I hope they remember trips to the Dollar Store and eating ice cream on the couch while watching movies. I hope they'll remember all that fun stuff.
But mostly, I hope - and I'm working on it so that -- what they remember is that, for all that, in the end, Gramma had an unrushed soul.
Probably not what I'm best known for right now.
But,
sigh,
it's a slow work in progress.
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