I hold a new life in my arms these warm end-of-summer days. He came in the night half a month ago, a perfect squirmy bundle of boy, soft and pink and lovely. He came 100 years and one day after his great-grandfather. Consider the chasm stretching across all those years. Yet how much in common infancy and old age are. The wisdom of a century has faded into child-like speechlessness. Each knows little else than utter dependence on another's ability to clothe, wash, and feed. The end of life is as near to one as the beginning is to the other. Old limbs have succumbed to age. Legs bear no more weight, and the weight and care of life has diminished. Money, possessions--meaningless to the old man and the baby. Helplessness has set in on the gray head, eyes strain with longing. Old eyes are weary with years. The infant's are startled by the sudden light and can see no further than his mother's face. Both have little but the basic desire to be loved unconditionally. The old man fades. Death is knocking at the door. Death, be not proud! Where is your sting? Thanks be to God who gives us the victory, who has crushed old Death under His foot. While death knocks at that man's door, the baby begins to thrive. Cheeks plump. Limbs submit to his tender will. Eyes brighten, and his face breaks into waves of willful smiles. Death knocks at that old man's door, but joy indeed comes in the morning, and joy has come to our house again. Our beloved old Grandfather has entered Glory now, full of years. But we hold this new life, and our spirits shine with joy and hope because we know that we will all meet again on the Other Side, whole and glorified.
Rest in peace, Grandpa! We will miss you here, until we meet again. And welcome to our home, baby Simon!
