I ache and groan and complain about growing older and doing all the predictable things I promised the entire world as a child I wouldn’t do.  Like talking about my ailments in public and offering to show you my latest surgery scar and saying, “you think that’s bad, let me tell you what happened to me.”

Most mornings I get out of bed walking like the energizer bunny without batteries.  Rocks move faster.  I have to do anti-arthritis exercises to get my hands working first thing in the day – which means I pull on fingers to keep them from curving into a claw.  After several similar activities, I’m moderately good to go.

But, I’m here to tell you, I’ll suffer these tedious actions as long as God continues to bless Brenda and me with grandchildren.  The definite upside of growing older is having young wonders running at you with torrents of energy and love.

After a family vacation, we brought back with us two granddaughters, Sophie and Josephine.  The return was six hours on the road, and the squeals and gentle disagreements that proximity breeds had worn me thin.  We were tired and hungry and had to figure out something to eat in a house that had been vacated for more than a week and didn’t have much food.  The girls bounded from the car with the enthusiasm of 42 lab puppies.  My wife and I wanted to sit down on our back porch.  I did.

This was when the joy and beauty of old age exploded before me.  Brenda was taking the two princesses throughout our multiple flower gardens.  They selected, cut and gently held several bouquets.  The glory, however, was how they adored their Nana and watched her and followed her every move and suggestion.  And, how she, though very tired from the trip, was energized with patience and love in an act as simple as cutting flowers with “her girls.”

Not long ago, our two other grandchildren came for a week to attend Bible school at our church.  Miss Morgan is closing in on 10 and always wants to go shopping and have “teas” with Nana and go to swimming parties and watch Hannah Montana for hours.  Wears me out.  And her nearly five-year-old brother, Josh, is affectionately and appropriately called “boulder,” because the more he moves in any direction, the faster he goes.  Wears me out.  But, I can be ready to collapse, and either or both will come and cuddle up and say, “I love you, GrandBob. I love you Nana.”   If being old brings with it these four stars of my world, sign me up for more.