Proverbial wisdom says we use only 10% of our brain power. Spending two weeks living with a precocious toddler leads me to believe we’re born with 100% capacity but then dwindle to 10% by adulthood. When we reach 64 (my age), we’re clinging to percentages in the single digits.

Skylar Grace, my little 19 month old granddaughter, astounds me with her thinking skills. She memorizes words with one repetition, has learned the nuances of our slang, mimics voice inflection and puts grammatical sentences together with ease. And that’s just her language aptitude.

This little person has the gumption to try anything and takes logical risks: “Skylar do it. Skylar taste it. Skylar touch it.”

She summons up stamina adults wish they had as she tries repeatedly to conquer new skills, practicing each one a hundred times over. She never gives up and doesn’t give in. Winston Churchill said, “Courage is going from failure to failure without losing enthusiasm.” That’s a one year old.

Our little girl never runs out of fresh ideas. Her think tank seems always full. For example, this morning when she was helping me put rollers in my hair, I helped her put a few in hers. But she had a better idea. “Purple bracelets,” she said, holding up both arms with rollers she’d slipped over them. She’s the kind of employee Steve Jobs would want in his corner office.

What happens to those seemingly unlimited resources as we age? Will Skylar have been whittled down to 10% brain power by the time she’s a grown up? And the more important question, what was God’s original intention?

My guess is that Adam and Eve were at 100% thinking capacity when they were newly created in God’s perfect world. What a massive descent they made in one day, from 100% to 10%, as Satan had his way with them. After he cleverly convinced them to compete with God and thus commit the first sin, the horror of what they’d just done dawned immediately, probably as they were still chewing the forbidden fruit.

As they scurried about trying to think how to cover themselves, it was evident their brain power had already undergone a serious shrinking. Sewing leaves together? Not such a brainy idea. Too bad they didn’t have a one year old to help them think outside the box.

When God finally connected with them, he had a much better idea: animal hides. Adam and Eve probably watched him kill the animals to get the skins with which he covered them. Crouching in the bushes witnessing all that violence and feeling nothing but loss, what were they thinking? A lot less than 100%.

Ever since then, our brain percentages have not been good. Skylar and every other one year old are reminders of how mentally sharp we used to be. James Dobson said something like this: “Give me one hundred two year olds, and I’ll take over the world.” If I was him, I’d go for one year olds instead, before they lost even one percentage point.

”The mind of sinful man is death, but the mind controlled by the Spirit is life and peace.” (Romans 8:6)

Many things in life are overrated, but becoming a grandparent isn’t one of them. What a delight to have little ones in my life as I’m growing old. When I had young children, I was too busy (and tired) to appreciate much of what was unfolding. Pausing back then to watch a child play or looking to see life as he saw it was an unaffordable luxury.

But it’s all different during grandmotherhood. In one sense I’m a bystander, able to take time to observe objectively, yet the opposite is also true. I can claim them as “my own grands” and get involved with them on that basis. I can enjoy their energy but still count on a night’s sleep without having to get up to feed the baby. As Mom said often, “If I’d known how much fun grandkids were, I’d have had them first.” I get what she meant.

The only down side to being a grandparent is the steep learning curve. For example, when I was keeping track of infant Micah and toddler Skylar for a while today, I couldn’t figure out how to unfold the new double stroller. Adam came home from work and demonstrated how easily it unfolded with one flick of a lever. “We’ll just leave it open,” he graciously said, parking it in the garage for tomorrow’s use.

Inside the house the grandma learning curve is just as steep. Child safety locks on all the lower cabinets are enough to split fingernails and stymie a fully functioning adult, although I watched year-old Skylar undo one of them with one hand.

When I loaded the dishwasher the other night and it wouldn’t work, I had to ask for help again. Linnea’s answer was interesting. “We flip the circuit breaker when we’re not using it, otherwise Skylar runs it through cycle after cycle.” Now, before doing the dishes, I head for the fuse box.

Working the TV remotes was another problem. Because Skylar works the buttons and switches of anything within reach, they’ve put the VCR and DVD players atop the highest shelf. The remotes don’t work unless pointed to the ceiling. At least it was a solution I understood.

Getting into the bathroom was tricky, too, when no one was inside and the door still wouldn’t open. The hook and eye latch above my head was the cause, and Skylar was the reason. There have been other locking issues for this grandma to learn, too, such as the flipped bedroom doorknob that locks on the hall side rather than from in the room. No surprise that Skylar is the reason for this one, too, as her parents try to keep her from dismantling the guest room. Of course if a guest accidentally turns the button before entering the room, she’ll have to use her cell phone to call for release.

I’ve learned to keep the pantry door locked (Skylar again), the front door bolted (Skylar) and the dog bowls out on the patio (yes, Skylar). All the bottom dresser drawers are empty to prevent them from being routinely emptied onto the floor, and everything must be pushed away from the edges of dresser tops, kitchen counters and bathroom vanity tops. Pudgy little hands have a determined reach.

I wholeheartedly agree that grandchildren are a supreme blessing, gifts from God. Just remember, poopy diapers go in one trash can and wet ones in another. And don’t tell anyone that once I get home, I’ll need a week to recuperate from my vacation with the grandchildren.

“The godly walk with integrity; blessed are their children who follow them.” (Proverbs 20:7)

When someone we love dies, our minds spend a great deal of time looking back. If we’ve been at the bedside as death arrived, we go over and over that sequence of events because of a driving need to do so.

Watching someone die is distressing and can’t be dismissed by a quick act of the will, and I’m not sure it would be a good idea to do so anyway, even if that were possible. Looking back for a while feels like honoring the loved one who has passed away, which in turn helps the one still living.

I’ve gone over the hours and minutes leading up to Nate’s death again and again, combing through the details. Something in me longs to dwell there for a while longer, knowing eventually my heart will leave for good, although my mind will always remember the facts, minus the sadness.

I find myself wanting to rearrange events and conversations like a chef wants to put a messy spice rack back in order. Of course I know rearranging the past is fantasy, but how do I swap looking back for moving forward?

Recent days seem more difficult than those immediately after Nate died, as if a scab covering a wound has been pulled off and the injury has to start healing all over again. Experts tell us the grieving process is moving along well when we stop reliving the last days and the death scene and instead replay good times we had together before the disease came. Although I felt I was doing well in the healing process, maybe I’m not.

Hospice has kept in touch with us since Nate’s passing and has offered emotional support throughout the first year. They’ve told us that the birth of Micah Nathan and the coming of the twins in England can be roadblocks to grieving at the same time they’re a cause for rejoicing. This might be especially true for the parents of these little ones, our daughter with Micah and our son fathering the twins.

Hospice warned that as we met and got to know Micah, we’d have some feel-bad moments. His middle name represents a relationship he’ll never know, which is another small hurdle for us to jump, even as we take pleasure in his significant name. Hospice suggests we save something of Nate’s to give to Micah, a tangible link between the two Nathans, not so much for Micah’s sake as for ours. They also suggested we write letters for the baby in an effort to give grandpa-info to him while it’s still fresh. This will simultaneously help our grief.

Skylar with Nate                                                                 Nicholas with Nate

Recently I had a dream that may have revealed where I am emotionally. I saw it like a movie of someone else, although I was in it. Nate and I were hugging, then stepped back to look at each other face to face while holding hands. We continued back-stepping, letting go, without making any effort to stop ourselves, yet neither of us seemed frustrated as the gap widened. Eventually we stepped back so far, we both dropped out of the scene completely.

It was a sad dream but a slice of life as it is. Nate is completely out of my sight, but I can somehow “see” him a little if I relive those last weeks. Eventually I’ll hop over them to the happy times before, a sign that grieving is almost at an end. God’s plan is to bring healing, not to extend hurt, and I eagerly look for his release.

“Though he brings grief, he also shows compassion because of the greatness of his unfailing love. For he does not enjoy hurting people or causing them sorrow.” (Lamentations 3:32-33)