A few summers ago I was visiting our older grandchildren and had the chance to watch them participate in a swim meet. Lily was 11 at the time, and Ross was 8. Ross’ events were over before Lily’s, so while the parents stayed for the end of her events, he and I decided to walk home. The walk wasn’t super long, but it was after dark, and the three-block walk was not well-lit. Ross decided that I needed a guide, and so he grabbed onto the back of my upper-arm.
There was a time when my upper arms were firm and well-defined, but that train left the station a long time ago.
Gravity took over and turned those triceps into flabby granny arms so there was plenty of flesh for him hold onto. Ross turned to me, and said, “Nana, your arms are so easy to hold onto.” All those years of feeling disappointed with my upper arms, washed away in one precious moment with Ross.
Later that evening, I told Dan, my son and Ross’ father, what he had said. Dan started laughing and said he’s said the same thing to my mother when he was Ross’ age. Like father, like son; like mother, like daughter; and so like God, who loves us, flabby arms and all.