Sometimes, parents don’t know if they’ve done the right thing. The anxiety that accompanies that uncertainty doesn’t simply go away because the children are grown and gone. The affirmations we sometimes anticipate in making sacrifices may not be readily felt or observed. No parenting manual eliminates the possibility of self-doubt. We can only do what we think is best in the situation we find ourselves. This dilemma is especially frustrating to those of us who, like me, find it difficult to resist the urge to be the conductor of life’s orchestra.
This truth planted itself in our lap when our daughter, Mary, was due, that is, with her baby. Babies don’t always abide by due dates or pay attention to our anticipated plans for their arrival.
And so, we shouldn’t have been surprised at the surprise: Mary’s baby had his own plans for his birthdate.
Lori and I rushed to arrange flight plans and accommodations, made more challenging by the New York Marathon. I canceled my theology class; Judy, our dog sitter, was thankfully available. So, we rushed to arrive within 24 hours of the early notice.
Lionel Douglas La Rosa arrived safely at Lenox Hill Hospital in New York City. Lori and I rejoiced with tears of joy and a prayer of gratitude.
But we missed the moment. We were in flight when Lionel landed in his momma and daddy’s arms.
From the airport, we called to congratulate and to ask whether we should go to the hospital immediately or wait a few hours.
“Mary’s not feeling well; she is resting; could you please wait and come in the morning?” her husband, Peter, gently asked us.
We understood; Mary had just been through a grueling labor resulting in a cesarean section birth. But Lori and I were nonetheless downcast. All that rush to get to New York City, only to wait till the next morning to see the newest member of the family.
That night, as we ate at a restaurant, we couldn’t help but wonder whether we had arrived too late or too early.
The next day, we hotfooted (by Uber) to the hospital, where, with great big smiles, we held baby Lionel in our arms for the first time.
But we still didn’t know if we had done the right thing by arriving when we did. Were we too late? Or should we have waited till next week and given them time alone with their newborn?
Lionel answered our questions for us. He isn’t our first grandchild; he’s our seventh. But each one is as special as the first. No matter the number, there is a love that bursts in a grandparent’s heart, overflowing with tears when holding a newborn, letting his tiny fingers wrap around ours.
When Lionel grinned as I held him, it was as if he said, “You arrived at the perfect time for me.”
And that’s all that mattered.
Then Mary and Peter confirmed Lionel’s affirmation. “You came at the perfect time. I wanted you here after he was born more than before,” Mary told us. “With the C-Section, I was ‘out of it’ the night you got here. I needed you for the days after, not before.”
And when we left, days later, tears welled up in Mary’s eyes, rolling down her cheeks. Even though Lori isn’t Mary’s biological mother, Lori has been the mother Mary needed, especially in those days following Lionel’s arrival.
“I don’t know what I would have done without you,” Mary repeatedly said to Lori. And to both of us: “You came at just the right time.”
Love happens when we open our hearts, making ourselves vulnerable to others as we serve them. Love has its own timing beyond our feeble attempts to direct it.
I peered out the window as our plane ascended over New York, feeling a tug on my heart from Mary, Peter, and Lionel, who are anxious for our return. And at once I sensed a hand of affirmation from Above, assuring me that the right thing at the right time is in His hands.
All I have to do is be willing to say, “Yes.”