Reflections from a Military Grandmother
Courageous Grandparenting Blog My grandson and I stood on the sidewalk, watching and waving as the horse-drawn carriage pulled away from the curb and into the line of traffic. Our hands were sticky from the ice cream cone we shared moments earlier. We continued waving while the carriage, filled...
Harvesting Faith in Our Grandchildren
Courageous Grandparenting Blog A farmer trudges through the field with his muck boots squishing through puddles left by an early spring rain. He grips a hoe in one hand; a pouch heavy with seeds is slung over his shoulder. Every movement he makes is intentional. He stoops to dig four troughs, two...
The Work of My Hands
Courageous Grandparenting Blog My mom’s hands were marked by age. The skin on the back of her hands were thin, like a fine parchment with age spots scattered haphazardly among a network of prominent veins. Her finger joints, especially her thumbs, were swollen and arthritic. Her palms, resembling...
