A Love that Surpasses All Understanding

by Benedict Herrman

I was only fifty-two when, twenty-two years ago, I watched in both awe and anticipation as my daughter-in-law gave birth to my first grandson. He was born the usual way as babies are, and I felt my latihan move within me as he took his first breaths. My oldest son was now a father, and I felt a deep satisfaction when, a few years later, he looked at me with the eyes of someone who’s become a parent and said, “Dad… now I understand.”

That grandson just got married, and human nature being what it is, I will, no doubt, be a great-grandfather within the next couple of years. I cannot wrap my mind around this, for in that mind, I’m still twenty-five, though my body reminds me daily of that fallacy, as I can no longer leap tall buildings in a single bound. (Usually I walk around them, then take a nap.)

So, inevitably, the life cycle unfolds doing its own mysterious dance — children grow, become adults, pair up and have their own families. Friends stay friends or not, some die, some remain. Ancestors leave their impressions, perspectives, and choices within us, and we pass some on to those who come after. Young adults desperately try as hard as they can to be different in some fashion from their parents, only to discover in a few years that none of those externals really matter, surrendering quickly to the deep love they have for their own children — small, vulnerable and trusting as they are, changing the very vibration of time and space itself with the simple words, “Mommy” and “Daddy.”

As we all stumble imperfectly through the challenges and travails of caring for these sweet babies, growing all too quickly before our eyes, we come to the realization that we can only do what we can do given our particular circumstances, our resources and our natures. It’s not a large leap to then come to the understanding that our own parents, against whose shortcomings we once rebelled against with such fervor, also did the best they could given their circumstances. Blame falls away and the balm of forgiveness soothes as we take our place on the Great Wheel, parents holding our one hand, our children patiently waiting to hold the other.

It is then not another great leap to remember that all of us, in every country, in every corner of this world, live with the same circumstances — loving our children, trying valiantly against an array of difficulties (that most of us in this country do not encounter) to care and provide for their own families. They are not our enemies… they are our brothers and sisters, our family, our skin, our bone. We are them, and they are us.

The powerful, sacred beauty of this is often more than I can hold. It is, quite literally, staggering. When I am alone, there have been several times over the years that I have fallen to my knees, my head inches from the floor, sobbing violently and inarticulately bawling out the name of God, not in sadness, but in profound, overwhelming gratitude for this gift of Life itself, with its myriad pains, adventures, connections, losses, sadnesses, triumphs, delights, surprises, betrayals, revelations, and love. Above all, love. Love that “surpasses all understanding,” love so deep and central to our humanity that words to describe it are wholly inadequate, love that comes more strongly into focus with this Contact we’ve been graced with — available to all, but experienced by far too few, to which the woeful state of the world attests.

So, carry on grandson, and all of you who follow us through this earthly life. Find your Truth and your Self in your own fashion as you explore the gift of your existence. May you always have what you need. May your path towards Wholeness be made clear, and may you remember those of us who came before you with love, forgiveness and respect… we did the best we could with what we had, and who we were. As will you.