Two Babies, Five Post-its, and the Art of Not Knowing

Two things to know about me.

First, I don’t make lists.

Second, when something important is happening, my desk fills up with Post-it notes.

Right now, the yellow ones are everywhere.

Two car seats.

Two cribs.

Two adorable pairs of shoes.

Two babies arriving soon who will have their own timing, preferences, and opinions—none of which I get to vote on.

This isn’t my first time as a grandparent. Emerson has been around for eight years now, and she’s already taught me most of what I know. Mostly by being herself. Still, something about two more has me scribbling again.

When Emerson was little, I was new to the Pacific Northwest and she was new to everything. On Fridays, I’d put her in our little red wagon and we’d go for walks. No destination. Just moving.

One day she told me to stop.

She climbed out of the wagon, toddled over to a huge hemlock tree, and wrapped her arms around it. I stood there, unsure what to do. Then I felt tears coming and decided to join her.

That became our Friday ritual for years. Walk. Stop. Hug the trees.

No explanation needed.

That’s how most things come together for me. Not cleanly. Not efficiently. I scribble words. Jot down half-thoughts. A song lyric. A story I don’t want to forget. I move the notes around. Peel some off. Crumple others up.

Eventually, a few stay stuck.

Those are the ones I pay attention to.

Becoming a grandparent again—this time with twins—feels like that. I can prepare a little. But mostly I’m noticing which Post-its won’t come unstuck.

Who will they be?

Who will I be to them?

What will need to be crossed out?

In church these weeks, I’ve been thinking about the Magi—how they went home another way. We often talk about that as a brave decision. And maybe it was. But I wonder if it was simpler than that.

Maybe they just couldn’t ignore what they’d seen.

Maybe it stayed with them.

I’ve got a cluster of Post-its in front of me right now. Most of them won’t matter in a month. But a few keep holding on.

Pay attention.

Slow down.

Be present.

Emerson taught me that before I had words for it. She didn’t explain the tree. She just hugged it.

Two babies are on the way.

Five Post-its remain on my desk.

And I’m trying to trust what keeps sticking.

Your friend and pastor,

still learning when to stop the wagon,

Brook