As my daughter and son-in-law had their child, I had lots of conversations with others regarding what it means to be a grandparent.
I heard about how it’s the “best thing ever,” how it changes everything, how you can love more deeply than you ever thought possible.
And listen, I’ve never doubted that. I believe them. But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit—sometimes, I feel that quiet voice whispering, “So… why isn’t that your story right now?”
Comparison doesn’t always shout. Sometimes it sighs. It shows up in a Facebook photo of someone snuggling a grandbaby, or in a conversation that begins with, “You’ll understand when it happens to you.”
And then when it does happen to you, it doesn’t seem to be unfolding like you wanted or thought it would.
Mel Robbins says this: “Comparison is the fastest way to feel like you’re losing.” And isn’t that the truth?
I’m not trying to compete in the grandparent Olympics—but somehow, it feels like I’m supposed to be doing something like someone else. Feeling what they feel. Loving in the way they do. Being invited, included, or involved the way their story says a grandparent should be.
But life—and love—rarely follow the script. And when they don’t, the temptation is to turn inward and assume we’ve somehow messed up. That we’re behind. Out of step. Not doing it “right.”
Jesus told a story once (Matthew 20) about a landowner who hired workers for his vineyard at different times throughout the day. Some started at sunrise. Others were picked up at lunch. A few barely clocked in before closing. Yet at the end of the day, they all received the same pay.
And the ones who worked longest were mad about it.
But Jesus wasn’t handing out prizes based on time served. He was showing us something far more unsettling and beautiful: in the kingdom of God, grace doesn’t follow human logic.
Worth isn’t measured in hours, titles, or timelines. Love isn’t earned by getting there first or doing it like everyone else.
So here’s what I’m learning: my path into grandparenting won’t look like someone else’s. And it’s not supposed to. And that’s ok.
This is a path that calls for intentionality. And sacrifice. For showing up even when it’s hard or awkward. For sacrificing control over how I wish it would be—and trusting that what it is – IS amazing and can still be holy. Still good. Still full of purpose and love.
So the next time that voice says, “You should be doing it differently,” I’ll respond, “Not better. Not worse. Just mine.”
Because grace doesn’t hand out medals. It offers meaning. And I’m learning to receive that in the quiet, beautiful, imperfect unfolding of my own story.
Can you?
Scripture: Galatians 6:4–5 (MSG)
“Make a careful exploration of who you are and the work you have been given, and then sink yourself into that. Don’t be impressed with yourself. Don’t compare yourself with others. Each of you must take responsibility for doing the creative best you can with your own life.”
Grace and Peace,
Andrea