Time Travel

When I look at my newborn 

my little Elliot Mukisa

I see his 54 centimeters

and his 4.9 kilograms,

his head of growing hair

and his expanding waistline,

his perfect little bellybutton

and his skinny little legs.

I see dark eyes

that cannot focus

but look searchingly nonetheless.

I see ten fingers

that people keep saying are long

even though I don’t notice it myself.

I see him alert, and sleeping,

and crying—sometimes howling--

when food comes ten seconds too late.

But I also see

a toddler

running around behind his big sister

blonde hair, blue eyes

energy that adults envy.

I see him in a school uniform

walking down the hill

with his friends.

Friends he does not yet know

walking to their teachers

who have not yet been hired.

I see a young man

with compassion

attitude

humor

understanding.

When I look at my newborn

my little Elliot Mukisa

I see who he is

but I also see who he is becoming,

who he can become,

who he might be.

I see him now

and I see him in the future.

It is a sort of time travel, I guess.

____________________

When I look at my grandmother

Grandma Pat

Big Mommy

Patty

Pat

Patricia

(my daughter’s namesake)

I see her kind eyes

and beautifully landscaped hands.

I see her Iowa State sweatshirt

and her matching earrings.

I hear her delight

in her children

and grandchildren

and great-grandchildren

and her comical frustration

when the Cyclones make

what she considers

a stupid mistake.

I see her slow walk

though she hides the pain well

and I never hear her complaints

because in all the time I have known her

she has never offered one.

But I also see

a bride

tiny little thing

in what I think is

a hoop skirt

standing beside my grandfather

behind the cake

on their wedding day

in a cherished

family video.

Someone speaks to her

and she shakes her

finger at them

in the same way she does today

if we dare to challenge her.

I see her in her office

at the university

where every summer she would take us

to show off to her coworkers

(or maybe former coworkers;

I guess I never knew then

if she was retired

or not).

I see her on the beach

in St. Croix

basking in the triumph

of a well-executed family trip,

finding joy in

each person there,

kissing my grandfather

Big Daddy

under a palm tree in the sand,

blissfully content in

the family they have made.

I see her in the memory ward

Grandpa’s final home

(on earth, anyway)

spooning mashed potatoes into his mouth

slowly, patiently

lovingly

and I think,

I hope I can live my life

with the same kind of

care

devotion

love

patience

service

integrity

grace

that she does.

When I look at my grandmother

Grandma Pat

Big Mommy

Patty

Pat

Patricia

I see who she is

but I also see who she was

in the process of becoming

the her I know now.

I see her now

and I see her in the past.

It is also a sort of time travel, I guess.

____________________

Imagine

seeing what God sees.

He does not have to time travel;

He lives outside of time

itself.

He looks at us

and He sees who we were

before we were anyone.

He looks at Elliot

and He knows exactly

what kind of boy

and man

my son—His son—

is going to become.

He looks at my grandmother

and He knows

the parts of her life

that even she

has forgotten.

What a perspective

What an adventure

to know people in that way.

What an adventure

What an honor

to be known in that way.