Practicing Nearness Across Generations
Table of Contents
Movement 13: What Grandparents Do — A Love That Learns Across Generations
Movement 14: Generational Wisdom — From Z to Alpha
Movement 15: “Timeouts” Are Also for Grandparents Too
Movement 16: Learning to Be Present
Movement 17: It’s Not Too Late — A Word for the Regretful Grandparent
Movement 18: A Metaphor of Kinship Through Clothing and Care
Epilogue: The Wonderful Gift of Grandparenting
Movement 13
What Grandparents Do
A Love That Learns Across Generations
By Ron Randle
Let us be honest—none of us fully understood what we were signing up for when we became grandparents. We assumed it would be simpler. Sweeter. Fewer rules, more spoiling. We did not expect to need strategic patience or humility on a whole new level. And we surely did not anticipate the meaningful reformation that happens as we grow in relationship not only with our grandchildren, but with the children we once raised. But here we are.
Somewhere between building car tracks on the carpet and sitting in the bleachers at middle school award assemblies, we realize something important: grandparenting is improvisation. It is not just reliving the past. It is staying awake to the present. It is a posture of listening, adjusting, and loving on purpose—even as seasons change and the language evolves.
In the early years, it is simple. You get down on the floor. You become a train engineer, a tea party guest, or the mayor of their tiny block of Duplo chaos. You say “yes” to reading Goodnight Moon for the thirtieth time because, honestly, you are still trying to memorize it better than they have. The truth here is simple: nearness matters most.
Then they start asking questions—not about Wi-Fi, but about life. They do not want lectures. They want glimpses. Not of the big moral arc, but of you—as a kid, as a human. You offer your stories not to prove a point, but to build a bridge. They are curious. Your gift is making yourself available to them.
Now it gets more complex. You offer rides to the gym. You get a random call at 9:00 p.m. to pick them up because their parents cannot get there. You sit quietly through soccer games or school plays where they have just a few lines and a costume. They may not say much, but you are learning that being available is its own kind of love language.
You realize that your importance is quietly shifting. And that is exactly as it should be. They are becoming. You are not the center, but you are still in the circle. And every now and then, they show it in small but meaningful ways.
Eventually, they are driving you to church or offering to pick something up from the store. These moments matter even more because the windows of connection grow fewer.
When they say, “Let me drive,” they may be saying: “I still want to be around you. I am growing, but I have not forgotten what you mean to me.” It is humbling. And beautiful.
This is not the season to revise their resumes or relive your grandparenting. This is the season to bless them forward. To offer prayers instead of unsolicited advice. To show up with grace, not control.
Grandparenting also brings us into a new and delicate dance with our own children, who are now the parents of these grands we love. And it requires tact. It requires restraint. It requires wisdom.
We are not raising their children. They are.
That reality changes how we show up. It means we adjust our style. It means we bite our tongues more than once. It means we learn to trade opinion for observation and criticism for compassion.
We do not always know what to say. But we slowly learn, sometimes the hard way, what we can do. We can be available instead of invasive. We can be supportive instead of overbearing. We can be partners instead of supervisors.
What we are building is not perfect. But it is meaningful. It is a relationship shaped by respect, patience, and the choice to walk alongside rather than ahead.
Movement 14
Generational Wisdom — From Z to Alpha
By Ron Randle
I have learned some things about Generation Z, and I am now beginning to understand the early rhythms of Generation Alpha. When I look at my own heart, I notice something in me as well. Humility, love, grace, and mercy matter more now than ever. These are not soft values. They are the builders of legacy.
Family identity is not handed down automatically. It is passed on through intention. We offer nearness. We make room. We season the family with laughter, patience, and perspective even when our role shifts.
Through every season we do what we do, not to be the hero, but to be a witness. A guide. A steadying voice that says, “I am here. And I am not going anywhere.”
This is how generational wisdom is carried. Not through control, but through steady presence and consistent love.
A Blessing
May you feel seen and cherished for exactly who you are. May our time together be a place of trust and understanding. May I have the wisdom to listen more than I speak and the grace to learn from your perspective.
May our relationship be a testament to love that spans generations, rooted not in sameness, but in mutual honor and open hearts.
Movement 15
“Timeouts” Are Also Good for Grandparents
By Ron Randle
Let me say it clearly. Grandparents need timeouts too.
We have eleven grandchildren, from three to thirty one, and the youngest three are a full symphony of energy, emotion, and unfiltered honesty. Spend a single day with them and you will understand why timeouts are not just for discipline. They are for survival.
Here is the pattern. The nine year old taps out after thirty minutes with her younger brother. The five year old follows soon after with his classic line, “He is annoying me.” And the three year old eventually arrives in tears for reasons that defy logic but are very real to him.
That cycle repeats itself all day. And if we are honest, we feel it.
So here is the wisdom we finally embraced. If we expect children to take a timeout when they are overwhelmed, then we should do the same. A timeout is not quitting. It is returning with a calmer heart and a clearer head.
Sometimes the most responsible thing we can do is step away for five minutes. Sit on the porch. Breathe. Let the volume settle. Then walk back in with the kind of nearness that actually helps, not the kind that reacts.
Grandparenting is joyful. It is demanding. It stretches our patience and deepens our love. And part of loving well is knowing when to pause before we speak, correct, or intervene.
So take the timeout. Take it without guilt. A rested grandparent is a wiser one. And wisdom, more than energy, is what our grandchildren need from us most.
Movement 16
Learning to Be Present
By Ron Randle
I admit it. I am still learning how to be in healthy relationship with my children and my grandchildren. That will remain my intention as long as I have the ability to think clearly. I am committed to this work because they deserve that from me.
Let me tell you what that looks like, especially with my grandchildren. Here is the truth. I have the responsibility to move toward them, not the other way around. I take the initiative. And I want to be held accountable for that.
This is why I have asked Liessa to speak into this part of my life. I have invited her to offer loving and constructive observations about how I can keep growing. That is not always easy. My first reaction is usually to defend myself, my intentions, my choices, or my way of grandparenting. But I am learning to listen.
A Morning Pattern
Most days, our five year old and three year old grandsons come downstairs in the morning and crawl into bed with us. I hand them the iPad or my phone, and they settle in to watch animated shows. And in those moments I think to myself, “Look at me. Being the fun Pops. Sharing quality time. Keeping the peace when they argue over what to watch.” We usually figure it out on the surface.
But after watching this pattern long enough, Liessa gently but firmly said, “You are not going to get away with thinking this is quality time. Because it is not.” She was not shaming me. She was being honest. And she was right.
She encouraged me to step back and think, not about what is easy for me, but about what is meaningful for them. She asked an important question. “What does true investment look like for them in this moment and in this relationship?” That question deserved an honest answer.
So now I am being more intentional. I am thinking about what I can give them that is deeper. Something that brings joy now and builds connection for years to come. Not just convenience, but nearness. Not just being there, but being with them.
Presence vs. Being Present
This has also led me to wrestle with something important. Presence and being present are not the same, although they walk closely together. Presence is about physically showing up. Being in the room. And that matters. Children notice when we are there and when we are not.
But being present is something more. It is attentiveness. It is entering their world. It is looking into their eyes, hearing their questions, and laughing at the same silly stories even when I have heard them five times already. It is nonverbal, but it says everything.
The truth is this. You can have presence without being present. And that is what Liessa was pointing out. Handing them a device checks the box of presence, but it does not create connection. And connection is what endures.
They will not remember what cartoon we compromised on. They will remember if Pops looked into their eyes, heard their hearts, and gave them his full self. Even for five minutes.
I am still learning how to offer both. To be there and to be with them. To bring my presence in a way that lives in the room and lingers in their memory.
There is quiet mercy in this season of life. I still have time to grow. And I do not want to waste it. Not with autopilot. Not with comfort. Not with pretending I have already arrived. I want to grow in love and grow toward them.
“Presence without being present is a shadow. But when both come together, something meaningful takes shape. Trust. Memory. Love.” — rlr
It Is Not Too Late
A Word for the Regretful Grandparent
By Ron Randle
You wish you had done it differently. Said more. Or said less. Been more present. Less angry. More joyful. More aware. You carry memories that do not shine the way you hoped. And you wonder if the chance to matter has passed.
Here is the quiet truth. Redemption does not come from having done everything right. It comes from surrender. And God still writes new things through the hands of the humble.
This reflection is for you, the grandparent who feels the weight of regret yet still feels love burning in your chest. You are not alone. Many of us look back and grieve what we did not yet understand. But grace means you do not have to stay in that place.
What if your nearness today, real and surrendered, is the seed God will water? What if your “I am sorry” carries more weight than a thousand perfect words? What if your honest story becomes the doorway through which your grandchildren learn about mercy?
There is no expiration date on generosity. There is no statute of limitations on love. There is no moment too late for grace to begin.
You do not have to rewrite the past. But you can offer yourself again today, just as you are. Let God take the thread still in your hands. Even a frayed thread can strengthen the tapestry when it is surrendered.
It is not too late. Not with Him.
Epilogue
The Wonderful Gift of Grandparenting
By Ron Randle
There are few roles in life as quietly transformative as being a grandparent. It is not the center stage, but a meaningful edge—from which we witness the unfolding of legacy, memory, and mercy. We are no longer the builders of identity, but the steady companions who help preserve it.
We are the ones who remember the stories, who offer the long view, who say, “I have been there, and I am still here.” God, in His kindness, entrusts us with more than a second chance. He gives us a new rhythm to walk in. Not driven by proving or performance, but by nearness and prayer.
It’s a rhythm that allows us to offer grace without condition, wisdom without demand, and love that neither retreats nor clings too tightly. We now know what we did not know back then. That the long game of legacy is played out in small moments. That laughter shared on the porch and tears held in silence are both pure. That holding a child’s question with care matters more than giving the perfect answer. And most of all, that this chapter—these grandparenting years—is not lesser.
It is fuller. Not retirement, but reinvestment. Not slowing down, but sowing deeply. So we honor the God who redeems all seasons. We receive the invitation to grow in love, to be both witness and wellspring, to see our grandchildren not as projects to shape, but as people to behold.
May we never underestimate the power of our nearness. May our lives echo the faithfulness of the One who holds every generation. And may we leave not just memories, but a melody of mercy that continues long after we are gone.
“But from everlasting to everlasting the Lord’s love is with those who fear Him, and His righteousness with their children’s children.” — Psalm 103:17
© 2025 Ron Randle. All rights reserved.
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