“PopPop, will you sit down and read with me?” Emmie, my six-year-old granddaughter, asked, having plopped down on the couch shortly after school, her bookbag next to her. Her question stopped me mid-stride as I was hot-footing it to my study upstairs, anxious to resume work on a project. I was supposed to watch Emmie for a short while. “She’ll be fine,” Lori had said. “She’ll play upstairs with her baby dolls. You can keep working.”
But Emmie had another idea.
“Yeses” and “nos” are built into the warp and woof of life. When we say “yes” to some things, we must say “no” to others. The challenge is knowing the when and the what for the “yes” or “no.” We need discernment unless it is a straightforward right or wrong choice. It’s not deciding between the good and bad that usually vexes us. It’s determining to say “no” to the good so we can say “yes” to the best: the rub lies therein. It’s a learning process.
I like the story of a young man who asked his grandpa the secret of success. “Making the right decisions,” he told his grandson.
“How do you make the right decisions?” the grandson asked.
“Experience,” Grandpa replied.
“Well, how do you get experience?” the grandson continued to query.
“Wrong decisions,” Grandpa said.
Thankfully, we can learn from the wisdom of the ages, sacred texts and biographies, and people we admire and respect. We can benefit from the failures and successes of others.
In this instance, as I paused and looked at my granddaughter sitting on the couch, I had two simple choices. I could say, “Emmie, PopPop’s got work to do; we’ll read another time.” Or I could leave the work for later and sit down with her.
This was not an epic, heart-stopping decision. Whether I went back to my project or sat down with my granddaughter wouldn’t affect the New York Stock Exchange; airline flights would stay on schedule; no one’s job would be in jeopardy. I doubt heaven was waiting in the balance for my decision.
But Emmie was.
She waited, smoothing the book covers with her hand as she set them in her lap.
Nothing other than being in perfect harmony with the Spirit of God can guarantee we make no wrong decisions. Life is filled with do-overs because we’re imperfect people.
Our lives may be marred. They may not be what we dreamed. But every day is a new beginning, for God’s mercies are renewed each morning (Lamentations 3:22-23). And within that truth—choices—even the seemingly small ones, have consequences. Time is unforgiving. Yet, though we cannot change our past, we can change the direction of our future by our decisions in the present.
For the next 45 minutes or so, Emmie and I sat together on the couch, hip to hip, elbow to elbow, immersed in “Fincluky from Kentucky” (my choice, since I had just bought it for her) and “Bible Verses for Little Ones” (her choice, because she seems pleased with herself when she reads Scriptures.)
Some things can wait, others can’t. Moments with a child are there, and then they slip away. Time marches on. We can’t stop it. It can’t be bottled, even though Jim Croce wished it. We do well to sip it moment by moment, swirl it, breathe it in, savoring each sweet drop.
And hope our choices leave us with a satisfying aftertaste that lingers forever.