The tragedies of this life are intertwined with some of the most beautiful gifts, and they often pass by unnoticed. Or they pass by under the guise of day-to-day activities. When your toddler stops moving their lips incoherently in a way that makes you smile so big and instead starts saying “skid loader”. When your baby starts sleeping through the night and you no longer get those 3am cuddles when the world is quiet and still. When school starts and you realize things will never be the same in your home. When your teenager get their driver’s license and you suddenly aren’t needed quite so urgently.

And so many, many more.

These things, happening in real-time, are simple. They unfold slowly. They mask themselves as everyday happenings, tucked in between the layers of routine. They’re the small things that, unfortunately, in the moment don’t seem to be all that big of a deal. Or maybe, tragically, their passing isn’t noticed. At least not right away.

This is both the tragedy and the gift of time. These small things must happen for life to move forward. We need our kids to grow and develop so we can successfully launch them into the world. We need the sun to rise so we can live into our purpose for another day.

So then why must these precious seconds be tucked in between everything else, nearly hidden in the face of daily to-dos? I believe this is a gift we’ve been given. A multi-faceted gift. What a joy that in the midst of dishes and laundry, of working and mowing the lawn, we get to experience the very presence of childhood. Except this time, graciously, we’re not the ones fumbling through it.  We’ve done the gangly arms and legs, the figuring out how to properly hold a fork. We’ve done potty training and first days of school and tying our shoes. This time, we get to help someone else through it.

We get to watch from a different vantage point, one where we hold the wisdom and the know-how. We can guide our children through the hoops of life and tell them about the mistakes we made so they don’t have to. We can dry their tears and hold them tight when things go wrong, knowing all too well how desperately we craved that love when we were little.

And with each lesson learned, with each skill acquired, our children need us just a little bit less. They move from incapable to fully-functioning adults one band-aid, one homework check, one driving session at a time.

How bittersweet to watch them grow. To pray they get to turn around and help the next generation in the very same way. What a gift that we get to experience these moments. What a tragedy that they are oh so fleeting.