A few Sundays ago, I had a few quiet minutes with my nine-month-old granddaughter.
I did all the things you do with a baby in your arms.
I cuddled her.
I smooched her.
I assured her.
As I did with her older brother, I looked into her probing blue eyes and told her:
"I will always love you.
You will outlive me but not my love for you."
My heartfelt proclamation of Grandpa love ushered no tangible response, as she kept staring at me, waiting for what I would do next.
I expected nothing else. My cup was full.
There was something beautiful and eternal inside this moment.
There are moments when time is not quantitative, but qualitative. The Greeks call this time Kairos.
Kairos is a moment when time stands still, and emotion, wisdom and experience all come together in the fullness of time.
In this moment, love is more than what we do and how we feel, possessing mystery beyond explainable reason.
In this moment love is exemplified in the prayer of St. Francis: "Grant that I may never seek so much to be loved as to love with all my soul."
In this moment St. Francis, in desiring God grant him a willing heart becomes "a channel of peace."
In this moment I bring to my granddaughter all my heart knowledge – infusing this singular moment with peace and unconditional love.
For it is in loving another that we know love ourselves.
For this brief, eternal moment I rest in its beauty.
Healing the breadth of years.