- My wisdom is optional: They are not obligated to listen to me, so I must make them want to listen.
- Criticism acts as a wall: Every critique of the parents adds a brick to a wall that separates me from the grandkids.
- Influence takes years: One lecture does nothing; a decade of consistency does everything.
The second phase of my strategy involved a radical changing of the guard regarding the "Gatekeepers" - my adult children. Early on, I made the mistake of offering "constructive feedback" on my daughter-in-law's sleep training schedule based on how we raised our kids in the 80s. The result was a three-week freeze-out where I didn't see the baby. I learned the hard way that honoring the parents is the price of admission. Now, I treat my son and his wife as the captains of the ship. Even if I disagree with their dietary rules, their lack of church attendance, or their disciplinary style, I respect their boundaries to the letter. If Mom says "no sugar," I don't sneak the kid a cookie to be the "fun hero." That doesn't make you a hero; it makes you untrustworthy. Instead, I decided to become their servant. I stopped asking "Why aren't you going to church?" and started asking "Can I fold that laundry for you?" When the parents feel supported rather than judged, they lower the drawbridge. This increased access allowed me to switch from "Sermon Mode" to "Story Mode." I realized my grandkids are allergic to lectures, but they are addicted to stories about their ancestors.
- I don't say: "You need to trust God with your money."
- I say: "Let me tell you about the time in 1998 when I lost my job and didn't know how I'd buy groceries, and how I found peace in that panic."
- I don't say: "You should pray more."
- I say: "I was so worried about your math test yesterday, I spent my whole morning walk talking to Jesus about it."
Finally, I rely on the "Ministry of Presence" and the power of observation. In a world where my grandkids are constantly overstimulated and ignored by adults looking at their own phones, I have found that radical listening is a superpower. I made it my mission to become an expert on what they love. I learned the names of the Pokémon my grandson collects and listened to the pop songs my granddaughter loves - not to critique them, but to understand her world. When a child feels truly seen by you, you build a reservoir of trust that is unshakable. This trust allows for what I call "organic evangelism." I don't force them to do devotionals with me. Instead, I let them "catch" me in my natural habitat of faith. I let them see me reading my Bible in the morning - not for show, but because I need it. I whisper prayers of thanks out loud for simple things, like a good parking spot or a beautiful sunset. I ask permission before inviting them to church events, framing it as, "I would love your company," rather than, "You need to go." My role is no longer to be the harvester who brings in the crop; my role is to be the Good Soil. I am creating an environment of unconditional love and consistent faith. I may not see the fruit of this labor immediately. In fact, I often have to bite my tongue until it hurts. But by being the safest place in their chaotic world, I am ensuring that the path back to the Father is always swept clean, well-lit, and wide open for them when they are finally ready to walk it.
