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Rite of passage: Letter from Poppy

Dear Titus the Honorable,

The two years and five months you’ve been in my life have been some of my best days ever. I’m writing to you for a couple of reasons. The first is that as you get older, you probably won’t remember all the things you and I have done together. Second, because of our age difference, in all likelihood, I won’t be around when you get married and start a family of your own. So I want to leave you a written legacy and document some of the things going on in our lives.

Your grammy and I had the privilege of having you spend last Friday night at our house. This is in preparation of your baby brother coming in February. Like you, I was an only child for a while. Then my parents brought home a baby brother, and our lives changed forever. So I’m giving you a heads up: in a few weeks, your life will take a dramatic turn.

You and I had some great time playing together this weekend. I love it when you come slinking by my recliner, look over at me with that special smirk and whisper, “You can’t catch me.” Then you pause just long enough to make sure I’ve heard you and wait for me to explode out of my chair yelling, “I’m going to get you!”

For the hundredth time, you squeal as you turn to make a mad dash through the dining room and kitchen with Poppy in hot pursuit. You can run pretty fast for a child your age, but I have a lot more experience, and I wait for you behind a door. As you come running through, I jump out from my hiding place, making myself as big as I can and yelling, “Got you!”

Instantly, you pivot and yell, “Save me, Grammy, save me!” as you run and jump into her open arms. With Grammy holding you, even when I turn the corner and she and I stand face-to-face, you know there’s nothing I can do to get you. Not one thing. Because there is no greater force in the world than Grammy. No, not even Poppy the Magnificent can overcome Grammy-power. And that little smirk comes right back onto your face.

During our time together, you’ve come to know me as the Fixer. During Christmas, you had a musical snow globe with a tiny snowman inside. You loved to shake it and watch the snow fall as you played those songs over and over. Truth be told, after a couple of hours of nonstop “Jingle Bells,” I wanted to remove the speaker. But on Christmas Day, you dropped your snow globe, and the snowman broke off its stand. You looked at me and said, “I broke it, Poppy fix it.”

I had never repaired a snow globe before, but because of your confidence in my ability, I dismantled it, superglued the snowman back onto its stand, and it was fixed. When I gave it back to you, the smile that came across your face was priceless. Then you told everyone, “Poppy fixed it!” Yes, you’ve learned that when something breaks, Poppy will fix it.

Titus the Honorable, I’m glad you have confidence that Grammy can save you and Poppy can fix it, but in reality, we’re limited in what we can do. That’s why we do everything we can to teach you about Jesus. Because what Grammy and I can’t do, He can. You’ll find out before long that you can’t fix your own life. We can have a lot of fun, but it’s Jesus who will bring you joy. We can give you security and make our home a safe place for you, but it’s Jesus who will give you the peace that passes all understanding. We can give you love from morning to night, but we want you to know that the basis for understanding real love comes from God. “God is love” (1 John 4:8).

Grammy and I are praying for the day the Holy Spirit illumines in your heart why Jesus would leave Heaven to come to this Earth and live a perfect life, only to be nailed on an old rugged cross for your sin and ours. And one of these days, you will run to Him, yelling, “Jesus, save me!” and He will. Then you will know that not only does Jesus save, but He also will “fix it,” too.

Until then, you keep on running to Grammy to save you, and I’ll keep on fixing it. The day we can’t, we’ll run with you to Jesus, Who can.

Love, Poppy

Walker Moore

Author: Walker Moore

View more articles by Walker Moore.

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