grandkids – Lisa J Radcliff ~ Finding Freedom from the Past

The ideas for my morning with the littles flowed freely: “Mom-mom, let’s play ring-around-the-rosy. Mom-mom, let’s play duck-duck-goose, Mom-mom, chase me!” I love these kids and their energy and that they want me to play with them. But Mom-mom can’t run or jump anymore. And games that include falling down are definitely out (I do that enough on my own). I was quite content to sing and “march in the infantry” along with them. That’s about my speed. But they wanted more.

We settled on going outside to the playground. Five-year-old-in-two-days Everlee offered to help push the littler kids on the swings. It sounded doable. How was I to know that wet, freshly cut grass would be our undoing?

A few steps from the house, three-year-old Noel fell. The crying was not due to injury but the grass clippings that clung to her now-wet little legs. There was no consoling her. It only got worse when she discovered the teeter-totter swing was wet too. I picked up baby Daniel, told the other kids to stay there while Daniel and I went to get a towel.

That’s when things got treacherous. Wet flipflops, a twenty-pounder on one hip, and a slippery hill proved more grueling than I had anticipated. Upon returning to the swings, Noel was missing. I hoisted baby Daniel back onto my hip and went in search of Noel. At least at this point, Everlee was making good on her promise and pushing two-year-old Isaiah on the swing, who was giggling and yelling, “higher!”

I found Noel coming downstairs in a new outfit: pajamas. She couldn’t bear to keep the wet, grassy clothing on another minute. I warned her it was still wet and grassy outside, but she was sure the new outfit would solve all her problems. The right pajamas can do that, I assure you.

We made it back to the swings without any falls. Everlee sat with Daniel in front of her and Noel behind her on the teeter-totter swing. Two swings, side-by-side, one Mom-mom, no problem. Until Everlee decided she didn’t want Daniel to sit in front of her anymore. Mom-mom needs at least three arms—longer ones than the T. Rex version I am sporting. I’ll be paying in pain for this little foray with the kids. They’re worth it.

Two days prior to this, I received my new handicap placard in the mail. It says “permanent” on the bottom. Thanks for the reminder. I forget sometimes, especially since I’ve been doing pretty good this summer. Even my memory has improved—apparently not enough to remember I shouldn’t have four children under five on the playground by myself.

There is a line in the placard instructions that says, “this placard replaces any previous placard immediately. Destroy any previous one.” It reminded me of what I can look forward to. One day I will receive a new, perfect, permanent body that will replace this old, damaged, temporary body. Like my old placard, this body will not just be replaced, but destroyed, cast off forever. And I will walk, run, jump, and go “up and down” (another one of Isaiah’s favorite games) without a single pain. What a day that will be!

¹⁶Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. ¹⁷For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. ¹⁸So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal (2 Corinthians 4:16-18 NIV)

Fifty years. That’s a long time. Is there something you have been doing for fifty years? Should you still be doing it? Just kidding. For me, this summer marked fifty years of summer adventures in Maine. Their motto says it all, The Way Life Should Be.

Fifty years ago, the camp was a little red log cabin with the most amazing lake view but no electricity and a stinky outhouse with buckshot holes in the door. In 1974, the new camp was built, almost doubling the size to 400 square feet. It has a fancy composter outhouse now with a shower. The 1990’s brought electricity, complete with a tiny flat-screen TV. It only gets three channels on good days, when the wind isn’t blowing, but we occasionally can catch Wheel of Fortune, a cooking show, news, and weather. Those are important things when on vacation. Ah, modern conveniences.

The view hasn’t changed. The huge, granite rocks still line the lake’s perimeter. The woods are just as dense, although there has been a natural shift of old trees coming down and young ones springing up. The road is still dirt, but wider and without rocks and holes that could demolish a small car. Water is still pumped from the lake to the kitchen sink, thanks to a new pump we installed this year. And by “we,” I mean my husband. I did nothing. The little red squirrels still angrily chirp at us when the bird feeders are empty, and the chipmunks still appreciate peanuts being set out on a rock or may even take them from your hand.

I was eight years old my first time at camp. It was special to me to be at camp this summer with my eight-year-old granddaughter, Emma. There are still plenty of vivid memories of my eight-year-old self at camp. But how much more vivid they were watching Emma. She loves to do all the things I loved: catching frogs, swimming, climbing rocks, playing games, feeding fish, hiking through the woods, roasting marshmallows over a campfire, stargazing, making a lot of noise. All of it. It was heartwarming to see camp through the eyes of an eight-year-old again. And five-year-old Sam brought back memories too—falling off the dock, slipping on the rocks and cutting up toes, and swimming to the beach on a boogie board (in my case, a rubber boat). We even taught Emma our favorite camp card game, and she beat us.

I am thankful for fifty years of fun, frogs, and campfires. As I’ve gotten older, camp has become a place of rest, relaxation, and refreshment. It’s my place to disconnect from the world and be immersed in God’s handiwork allowing me to more deeply connect with him. Jesus told his disciples to do the same thing, “Come away with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest. So they went away by themselves in a boat to a solitary place.” (Mark 6:31-32 NIV) I think of that verse every time I’m paddling my kayak on a mirror-like lake that is reflecting the rich oranges and purples of a Maine sunset. Whether eight or eighty, our little camp will always be a special place and, of course, the way life should be.