by Nick Stevens
We all love to laugh about the beauty of being grandparents. We get to play with the grandkids, spoil them, take them places, and when the diaper gets full, we just hand the stinky thing back to mom!
But there’s an art to this season of life. In this potentially awkward role, I cannot emphasize enough how important you are to the health of your children, the future of your grandchildren, and the power of your legacy. You must be engaged. You must “hold on” to your family.
However, your engagement and your holding on require doing so with open hands. It means waiting in the neonatal hallway for your kids to invite you in to hold the newborn for the first time. And they will invite you in.
Holding on with open hands means having powerful opinions, deep wisdom, and vast experience — but keeping them to yourself until asked. And they will ask. It also means knowing when to call ahead and bring dinner over without being asked.
Letting Them Leave
“Holding on with open hands” means you must let your kids form their own family. Scripture tells us that a man leaves his father and mother and bonds with his wife, and they form their own family. They must build something that’s theirs, not a copy of his or her parents’ home.
Except for difficult situations, raising our grandkids isn’t part of our role; it’s the role of mom and dad in this new family. Always has been, always will be.
We can agree or disagree with how they do it. We can share our blessings and gifts. But we cannot try to take over how our grandchildren are raised, no matter how good our intentions or how subtly we might try to do it.
My youngest daughter Lexy and I have always been close. She loves to discuss the secrets of life with her verbose dad. After she married Jonathan, she confessed to me that early in their marriage, after a disagreement, Jonathan told her firmly: “Lexy, I am not your dad. I will never be your dad. And he is not always right about everything.”
He was right. Lexy and I still enjoy our long conversations, but I had to learn that my role was not to solve their problems. My role was to help them search for their own solutions. This is the art of intergenerational conversation. They need my wisdom, but the decisions are theirs.
Letting Them Leave Does Not Mean Walking Away
A dad I know recently asked his parents why they don’t visit more often to see their grandkids. His dad replied, “We love you guys, but we’re done raising kids. Now it’s your turn.”
Those words left this young father frustrated and longing for his parents to be more engaged, to speak into the lives of his children. But the road between houses was a one-way street. The grandparents didn’t call. They didn’t show up. They basically walked away. I hear this more often than you might think.
The easy path seldom leads to a healthy destination. Self-centeredness is a characteristic of childhood, not adulthood — and it’s especially unattractive in a grandparent.
Bruce Fear, a friend of mine who writes about retirement, points out that God never calls us to retirement. We are called to be fruitful, and that can last throughout our entire lives. The emptiness many experience in retirement comes from the fact that we are not designed to stop serving. We are designed to add value, to mentor, to encourage.
Grandparents, your experiences — fatherhood, motherhood, career, losses, victories, hard times, good times — have all brought you to this place. You can add value. You can mentor. You can encourage your kids and grandkids beyond your wildest imagination. But you must not walk away.
What Open Hands Look Like
“Holding on” means I have work to do, and this work is about establishing my legacy and being fruitful. But “open hands” means I am not in charge of the results. I can’t always plan when and how to accomplish this work.
It means being available for emergencies. My two-year-old granddaughter ended up in the hospital with a sickness moving toward pneumonia. My son was trying to get back from a work trip but wouldn’t arrive until late morning, so at 2:00 a.m., my daughter-in-law called. She hated to wake me, but she needed help right then and she didn’t know who to call. But she picked me, and so I went. Even today, she recounts how, in the dimmed hallway, she recognized my silhouette with my fedora hat. Dad2 was there, and somehow things would be a little better.
I also need to be an ear to listen and not necessarily give answers. I need to attend the sports events. I need to take calls at odd hours. I need to be ready to tell stories when the moment arises. I need to plan outings that fit their schedule, not necessarily mine.
Holding on with open hands is a balance between two forces: enjoying this season of fewer responsibilities and recognizing that your family still needs you.
Stay engaged. Stay available. And keep your hands open.
Nick Stevens is a student of God’s design for family and fatherhood who speaks and writes about this after 46 years in the information technology industry. He is author of The Art of Being Granddad, from which this article was adapted. He has four children and two by marriage, and seven grandchildren who are the stars in his crown. Nick and his wife Cindy live in Colorado where he enjoys mountain climbing, pickleball, golf, camping, and of course investing in his grandkids. Find out more or contact Nick here.
