Small fingers and an imperfect world

Well, little girl, what do you think of the world so far?

It’s been one week since you arrived and made everything better. Everyone said grandbabies grab your heart in a hurry, and, boy, were they right. You sucked me right in with your tiny hands and miniature ears and eyes that occasionally pop open, dark and intense, before you drift back to sleep.

In that dim hospital room, one week ago, you rested your fuzz-topped head in the crook of my arm. Your lips twitched and your little eyebrows scrunched as you slept, seeming to dream baby dreams ― of what? Of worlds beyond this one, which you have barely begun to explore?

You cried a little, in this first week, and sometimes gazed contemplatively at your mother’s face or squawked when your dad changed your diaper. But mostly you slept, peacefully, deeply, as only new babies can. Slept, at peace, never once worrying about the future.

I think about it, though.

I think about what lies ahead for you. The hurdles that will stand in your path. The messes you will have to clean, even though you didn’t make them. The mistakes we adults have made for which you will have to pay.

I look at headlines and statistics and I want to grab you, hold you close, somehow keep you small and safe. People aren’t nice to each other out there in the big world, little one. They scream and claw and ridicule without thought. They will criticize you behind walls of digital anonymity. They will shame you. Film commercials to tell you you’re not pretty. Create rules that say you’re not good enough, you don’t try hard enough, it’s your fault.

You will see horrible things, out there in the world. You will see excess glorified and compassion crushed. You will watch adults act like children and children look around them, bewildered by a world so imperfect.

But don't be afraid, sweet girl.

No, this life to which you have come is not perfect. Not by a long shot.

But, darling child, it’s still worth living, I promise. Just wait til you see all the good that’s out there, too.

In between the cruelty, there’s so much kindness. Meanness is loud, but gentleness is resilient. Humility hums below all the pride — listen carefully, sweetheart, and you’ll hear it.

With every calamity comes a surge of warm hearts and giving hands and open doors. People try — oh, how they try, striving and fighting forward and giving it all they’ve got — you’ll see how beautiful it is, how they try. And they want a good world, at least most of them do. They want to take care of the hurting and fix problems. They want love to win.

I sat and watched you as you slept on your dad’s chest a few days after you were born. Your fingers, no bigger than matchsticks, stretched their so-small muscles, reaching for you-knew-not-what.

I placed my finger in your palm and you wrapped those tiny fingers around mine, and I would have done anything for you. I would fight back every demon and charge through the world with a broom and a shovel, sweeping aside all that could make your heart sad and burying that which could stand in your path.

But you don’t need me to fix the world for you, this back-and-forth world that’s so bad and so good. You’ll go out into it and make your mark and do your bit and find your place and make it better, just by being in it.

In the meantime, sweetpea, I’m going to hold you while I can and gaze at that nose that twitches in your sleep, and I’m going to daydream of bedtime stories and soccer games and graduations and you, this child of my child, being and becoming.

And I’m going to look at the big world that surrounds us both — sometimes scary, sometimes breathtaking — and gather my strength and do my utmost to make some tiny piece of it better.

With these small fingers wrapped around my heart, what else can I do?

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Dear reader, please join me in welcoming my first grandchild, Aspen Riddle. I’m happy to report that she is the cutest infant in the history of humanity.

Thanks for helping me make a better world for her.