Right On Time
Hallie wasn’t supposed to arrive for three more weeks.
My oldest daughter, Hannah, gave birth to her first child last week — our first grandchild — and the whole thing unfolded on its own schedule, the way the best things usually do. Three weeks ahead of the plan. But right on time.
Gandalf would have understood. “A wizard is never late, Frodo Baggins. Nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to.” (J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring)
My wife, Debi, got to be in the room where it happened. She assisted Hannah’s husband, Daniel and the nurses and doctor through the whole thing — a beautiful gift I don’t have adequate words for. Me? I was in the waiting room, not quite pacing but trying to stay awake after a long day and a longer drive. Cigar, anyone?
Everyone keeps asking the same question: How does it feel to be a grandfather?
I’ve been asked it a dozen times now and I still don’t have a certain answer. How do I feel? Mentally, emotionally or spiritually? — there’s more to unpack there than one essay can hold. More, honestly, than I can access without a long walk and probably a counseling session or two about getting older.
So let me start with something I do actually feel. Grateful.
Grateful that Debi got to witness the miracle of her first daughter giving birth to her first daughter. Grateful that I was just feet away from the miracle of Hallie entering this world. Grateful that she’s here. Grateful that there were no complications of birth or baby.
Three weeks could land as disruption. A surprise. Something that arrived ahead of schedule and caught everyone slightly off guard. But when I held Hallie for the first time, disruption was not the word that came to mind.
Nothing about her felt accidental. Nothing felt off-schedule.
She arrived when she was supposed to arrive — by a clock I certainly don’t control, but I have faith in the One who does. The Psalmist put it this way:
“All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.” (Psalm 139:16)
Before one of them came to be.
Hallie’s days are already written. Her arrival — early by our calendar, unhurried by God’s — was never in question. That’s not grandfatherly sentiment. That’s not the kind of thing you say because it sounds hopeful. That’s just what I understand about how God works. Not that everything goes smoothly. But believing that nothing arrives outside of His attention.
Not one sparrow. Not one granddaughter.
People ask how it feels to be a grandfather and I think what they’re really asking is — has it changed you?
Honestly? Ask me in a year.
But I know this much already. There is something about holding a person who is brand new to the world that resets something in you. The cynicism that accumulates quietly over decades — the weariness, the having-seen-too-much — it doesn’t stand a chance against six pounds, two ounces of new life who has no idea yet that the world is beautifully complicated.
Hallie doesn’t know about any of that. She just arrived early. And right on time.
Maybe that’s the thing she’s already teaching me.
I don’t know yet everything that being a grandfather means.
But I know what kind of grandfather I want to be.
A better version, I hope, of the father I am.
Welcome, Hallie. We’ve been waiting for you.
Gratefully,
Papa
