Years ago, when our grandchildren were still young, we hosted GRAND KAMP—a week of fun activities for grandparents and our grandchildren only. It meant a week of boxed macaroni and cheese (they like the stuff) and wieners sliced and boiled to look like an octopus. (They’re teenagers and still talk about that.) Now you can’t live long enough to be a grandmother without learning a few things, so I smartly planned GRAND KAMP during the week of Vacation Bible School. Now I only had to plan ten hours of daily activities instead of fourteen.
Samantha and Austin were a bit young and knew none of the children or teachers, so I attended VBS activities with them the first day. Mid morning, we found ourselves sweating and standing in line in the churchyard, waiting our turn for the water balloons.
As an aside, you must know that we were experiencing the tenth plague that summer—grasshoppers, everywhere grasshoppers. In utter amazement, I watched this curly-headed, freckle-faced little girl in line just ahead of us. As she waited her turn, she pounced on the grasshoppers in her path. Her skilled performance and her lack of girlish squealing indicated that she had done this before.
That was very interesting to me, but then it got strange. When this cherub-looking child picked up the grasshopper, she pulled his back legs off and threw him back on the ground, pouncing on her next victim in the same movement. Frankly, I wondered if her father had taught her to do this, and then my mind raced ahead. Perhaps I would read this child’s name in the headlines in twenty years when she is convicted as the second female serial killer in U.S. history.
Samantha’s tugging at my hand and her questioning blue eyes reminded me that I was the grown-up here and that I had a responsibility to do something about this.
So I knelt down to eye-level of this unknown little girl, introduced myself and said, “Oh, I don’t think what you’re doing is a good idea. That must really hurt those grasshoppers.” Then I said something really profound, “And how would you like it if someone pulled your legs off?” Maybe some grandmothers aren’t so smart after all.
Well, my words emboldened Samantha to add her own commentary. So she astutely said, “Yes, my Nana is right. Those are God’s creatures. He made them, and He can’t make anymore because He died.”
He died – period. End of statement. Whoa!! She got the “died on the Cross” part, but we definitely had a lesson on the Resurrection that afternoon.
Let’s don’t miss one thing about this glorious season and how it changed our lives forever. Immerse yourself in the shadow of the Cross, and then dance in the light of the Resurrection. We can live forever, enjoying eternity with the Creator and Life-Giver. And there’s more good news—He’s still creating and redeeming, even grasshoppers and curly-headed, freckle-faced little girls.
Oh, and here’s a photo of my now teenage grandkids, taken at our Easter 2015 get-together.
