I'm tired, boss, dog-tired.

Big John Coffey, The Green Mile

That’s how Nana and I feel this morning, and, like Big John, the journey is not yet over. By way of explanation, we’ve had six of our ten grandchildren with us this week, four of whom are under seven, the only boy being the two-year-old, who comes with all the rights and privileges accorded therein, in his little mind at least. The Michigan contingent left this morning, while the Kentucky youngsters have one more night with Nana, Papa, and Stevie Nix. Stevie, for her part, tolerates kids and knows better than to show her little fox-like teeth when they are in her face, giving her the sloppy, squeezey, personal-space-invading love of a child. She doesn’t want a reward for her tolerant discipline; she wants a nap.

Nana and I are tired, sure, but unlike Big John, we wouldn’t change this for the world. To have adult children who want to visit and who trust their youngsters with the likes of their aging parents is priceless. And we will say yes to these little invasions as long as we have strength in our bones and Eggos in our freezer - because this is life, pure and undefiled.

I think, under different circumstances, Jesus would have been a great Papa; he might have made milk replace the contents of the water jug, or maybe passed a bottomless box of Cherrios around the breakfast table—I can’t match that—but I can make an otter or a piggy appear on a piece of watercolor paper, which, to my easily pleased littles, is just about as good. I want to be the Papa that I envision Jesus being: Gentle, kind, funny, empathetic, firm, courageous, adventurous, and unfailingly loving.

If we can pull that off, we can send them home with the confidence that they’ve got as good as they’ve given, (which is 100%, starting at 6:15-6:30 a.m. and rolling hard into the night). Then Nana and I will feel like we did a little good in some important little lives that deserve our best.