Crossing

Photo by Iddea, Pixabay

For many years I babysat two of my grandchildren. Once a week we would spend time together. When they were very young, we had whole days together; exploring streams and woods, reading stories, playing games, listening to music. Later, once they started school, our hours together were fewer, but still filled with adventure. And every time we found ourselves in a parking lot, or needed to cross a street, I would reach out my hands for each of theirs, and we would cross that way. We did this, holding hands while crossing the road, for longer than was probably necessary. But eventually, as they grew older (and much taller than their grandmother!), we outgrew the practice, and crossed on our own.

So, I was surprised recently, as we were about to cross a busy street, that my granddaughter reached out her hand to me. Not to keep herself safe while crossing, but to keep me, her grandmother, safe. It occurred to me then, that we were about to cross something more than a just a street.

How slowly, and then quickly, these crossings come in life. For years and years I was their protector. It was a pattern that seemed would never change, like a circle. But life isn’t a circle. It’s more like a spiral, with each turn widening, nearly returning to its source but never actually doing so. When they were younger and I was still holding their hands, the passage of time widened the spiral of our relationship ever so slightly with each year, each day. But each widening of the spiral was so slight that it was hard to discern. And then suddenly, here we were, about to cross a street, so far from our original point that our roles had reversed.

As the spirals of our lives widen, we can’t stop them from taking us farther and farther from their source. Children will grow and grow, and eventually become elders. Eventually the spirals of our lives will lead us to death, and what lies beyond. But spirals are always connected to their source by one continuous line, no matter how far they stretch into time and space. And the source, the point of our beginning, the point of all beginnings, is Love. We can follow the spirals of our lives straight back to that source.

When my granddaughter reached out for my hand as we stepped into the street, I glimpsed the source of a spiral that has ever grown, and ever defined the relationship between granddaughter and grandmother. I took hold of her hand, and we crossed.

Photo by Mia Hilton