They're Listening

On the way to preschool one morning last week, my grandson Malachi had a very important concern. He wanted to know if he would get to play on the playground.

“Nana, is it going to rain today?” he asked. No, honey, it’s not going to rain today,” Jean replied. “But the sun is gone,” Malachi said. The sun isn’t gone,” she assured him. “It’s just behind the clouds.”

About five minutes later, as Malachi was getting out of the car, he overheard one of his teachers say to another, “Looks like it’s going to rain today.”

Without hesitation, and with all the confidence a preschooler can muster, Malachi responded, “No, it’s not going to rain. The sun is just behind the clouds,” and then calmly walked into school as if the matter had been officially settled.

Micah, our oldest, and Malachi, our 4-year-old, were listening!

Not long ago, my oldest grandson climbed into my truck and said, “Papaw, I’ve got a song I want you to hear.” He plugged his phone into the USB cord, and soon his playlist was filling the cab. As the music played, he sat there scrolling through his phone. To all appearances, he seemed completely absorbed in whatever was on that screen.

Then, reaching over, he turned the music down a little—very little—and asked my opinion about a situation he was facing.

Over the next few minutes, I gave him what I thought was some pretty sound advice. He listened quietly, nodded a couple of times, and when I finished, he sat there for a few seconds without saying much. Then he turned the music back up, thanked me, and went right back to scrolling through his phone.

As I glanced over at him, I couldn't help but laugh to myself and think, Well, that's five minutes of my life I'll never get back.

From where I was sitting, there wasn't much evidence that any of my wisdom had actually made it through the music, the phone, and whatever else was occupying his attention.

Two days later, my phone rang. “Papaw, guess what?” He excitedly launched into the story, telling me how everything was working out perfectly. As I listened, it sounded remarkably similar to the advice I had given him.

The funny part was that by the time he finished, it had somehow become his plan. Not my suggestion. Not my idea. His plan. I just smiled and let him have it. After all, at my age, I don't need credit nearly as much as I need proof that somebody was listening. And he was.

Both of those moments reminded me of something grandparents need to remember: our grandkids are listening. Even when they're staring at a phone. Even when they're wearing earbuds. Even when they appear to be paying more attention to a screen than to us. They're listening.

More importantly, they're learning who to trust.

Malachi trusted Nana's answer enough to confidently correct his teacher. My grandson trusted my advice enough to put it into practice—even if he later promoted it to his own original idea. Neither of them realized they were teaching me a lesson at the same time.

Never underestimate the influence you have on your grandchildren’s lives. Sometimes it's the conversations you carefully plan. Other times it's the passing comment in the car, the answer to a simple question, or the wisdom shared over a phone call.

Scripture reminds us, “The tongue has the power of life and death” (Proverbs 18:21). Our words matter. They can encourage, guide, strengthen, and point the people we love toward truth. And sometimes, even the words we don't say—the patience we show, the grace we extend, and the example we live—speak just as loudly.

The Last Best Bite

The next time you think your grandkids aren't paying attention, remember Malachi. The sun wasn't gone. It was simply hidden behind the clouds. Your influence is often the same way. You may not always see it. You may wonder whether your words make any difference at all.

But one day, a grandchild may repeat something you said, follow advice you gave, or make a decision based on a lesson you taught years earlier. And in that moment, you'll realize they were listening all along.

So, keep speaking life. Keep sharing wisdom. Keep pointing them toward Jesus.

Like the sun behind the clouds, your influence may be hidden for a season, but it's still there—shining, warming, and lighting the way. That's a pretty good Last Best Bite.