Old and Newness


Life.  Here today, gone tomorrow.  How fast it flies before our eyes.  No more has this picture reel of reality flashed before my own than in the last couple of days that I’ve helped to care for my grand-baby twins.

They are two months old now and have finally grown to new-born size.  Bundles of innocence swaddled in blankets of gauze.   Flannel sleepers printed in dancing rainbow elephants.  Buttons, zippers and covered snaps of Downey soft against the delicacies of skin gently massaged in baby lotion hinted in shades of pink.  Oh what a scent so sweet!  Hundreds of kisses skip over growing curls of silken black hair on otherwise bald heads.  Too many invisible prints of lips to count.  Never enough for “Grandma.”

Yesterday, while changing the ‘younger’ of the two girls, we had a private conversation.  Staring back at blue-green eyes contented, there was no doubt she recognized my voice.  Normally she isn’t too fond of being naked, even for a short minute.  But, this time she looked at me wide-eyed, as if in amazement.  “What are you saying to me, Grandma,” she wondered?

While covering her in cotton, stories were whispered about Mommy, Daddy and her precious sisters.  I reminded her of the love they shared together, and how one day they would open a chubby fist in order for her to grasp a golden string.   Someday not so far away she would pull a magic wooden moon of painted yellow to float future dreams on four wheels a wobbling.

Spring was coming soon so I traced word pictures on her tummy, creating stroller walks we’d take while rays of sun soaked the curve of our backs.   With wheels bumping over gravel, God would warm our fronts for us to view wildflowers along a path in surprise colors she had never seen before.  E.V.E.R.  Can you imagine that?

Slipping a tiny curled fist through a soft cotton sleeve, the last of two bent legs stuffed into the bottom of a ‘dragons’ foot.  It was an emerald-green grinning face together with grey felt claws hanging from side to side.  Zipping her up, I wound the music on her party-colored mobile of merry-go-round animals to simply gaze at her.  She grasped my finger, holding on tight.  My heart spilled over while drinking her in.

This littlest grand-baby of mine listened to melodies of music while turning her head to and fro to the sound of them.  And, then she stopped to stare straight through me.  Kicking her ‘dragon claws’ in wild delight, she struggled to make first sounds while opening a rosebud mouth.  Smiling at me, yes truly smiling at me, her lips arched upward singing her first “Coo” to the tune of the music.

Life.  Here today, gone tomorrow.  The lives of my little grand-babies are just beginning while mine is….well, on the other side of theirs.  The love I have for all five of them pushes me with renewed inspiration to share with all the world.

Not quite ready to call it a day…or a month…or even a year.  Right here, right now, I see myself writing forever in this cozy office space within the comfort of old and new books surrounding me.  I must remember that inspiration is a newness forever in my mind, never to grow old or disappear.

 

 

 

 

Tribute : Sam Berns (1996-2014)


Listen to Sam’s speech given before he graduated from high school. He had more wisdom in his ‘littleness’ than many of those ‘bigger’ in the world. Truly inspirational, his passing has left a wealth of research for those diagnosed with his condition in the future. Thank you, Sam, for your life, your passion, your inspiration to others and for your legacy that will live on forever. Bless you.

PROPEL STEPS

We hope you must know him, inspirational Sam Berns. Though he lived short, he inspired many people to take life positive and happy.

lifeaccordingtosamSampson “Sam” Gordon Berns (October 23, 1996 – January 10, 2014) was an American who suffered from progeria and helped raise awareness about the disease.

He was the subject of the HBO documentary Life According to Sam is about one family’s courageous fight to save their only son from a rare and fatal disease, progeria. The average age of death from progeria is 13, there is no treatment, and no cure. Dr. Leslie Gordon and Dr. Scott Berns are set on changing this. When their son Sam, now 16 years old, was diagnosed with progeria at age two, doctors told Leslie and Scott to enjoy Sam while they could. They refused to believe this was the answer. In less than a decade, their advances have led to…

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