Yesterday, and tomorrow.

Holding my grandchild feels a little like holding yesterday and tomorrow at the same time.

I remember cradling their parent in these same arms, and now, by God's amazing grace, I get to hold the next chapter of our family's story.

It's a reminder that love doesn't simply grow—it carries on. And what a gift it is to hold another little piece of my own heart and soul.

Your grandchildren often get the healed version of you

I came across that thought recently, and it stopped me in my tracks.

I look back at photographs of my children when they were young, and I wish they could have known this version of me—the version that isn't constantly in survival mode. The version that knows how to slow down. The version that has taken the time to heal, to adjust, and to understand that being present matters far more than being perfect.

Looking back, I was just a kid myself, trying to figure out life while raising kids. I made mistakes. I carried burdens I didn't know how to put down.

I loved my children with everything I had. But I know now that everything I had wasn't always everything they deserved.

I'm deeply grateful that my grandchildren get this version of me. They get more patience, more presence, more peace. But there will always be a part of my heart that grieves my children didn't.

If there's one thing I've learned, it's this:

Healing doesn't change the past, but it can change what gets passed down.

Maybe that's one of the greatest gifts we can leave the people we love—not perfection, but the courage to heal, to grow, and to make tomorrow gentler than yesterday.