I grew up less than five minutes away from all my grandparents. They were part of every birthday, Christmas, Thanksgiving, Halloween, Valentine’s Day and everything in between.

When Wendell and I became grandparents, we savored that same blessing. We lived a few blocks from our first three grandsons, and we saw them almost daily. Then, the transitions began. Today, half of our twelve grandchildren live too far away for a drop-in visit. In fact, it takes weeks of planning followed by a sixteen hour drive to reach our newest grandson.

At first, I worried about this. How would our grandchildren even know us if we waited months between visits? Nola was the first long-distance grandchild. We managed to drive through the night like maniacs and arrive at the hospital before she was born. (It’s amazing. Since that night, the drive has always taken five and a half hours.) During the first week of her life, I sometimes whispered into her tiny ear, “I’m your grandma. Please don’t forget me when I’m far away.”

Nola’s mom must have known my fears, because she placed a picture of Wendell and I on the nightstand and taught Nola to kiss us goodnight as part of her bedtime ritual. Still, I worried. As we drove to Nola’s first birthday party the next year, I counted how many times in her life she had actually seen me. The result was dismal. She knew the check-out lady at Target better than she knew me.

Then, we arrived. We walked to the door. The bell rang, the dog barked, and the birthday baby was just inches from our grasp.

And, then, the miracle. Nola reached out for me as if I were a long-lost love. She buried her tiny head against my shoulder and snuggled there as if to say, “Where have you been?!”

She knew.

Despite all the distance, despite all the wonderful people in her life who see her much more than I do, she knew. I am hers and she is mine. We belong.

This weekend, several grandchildren converged at our house for a wedding. Nola came, along with her new baby sister who snuggles my shoulder exactly the same way. And while they were playing and laughing and loving each other, I couldn’t tell the difference between the granddaughters who live next door and those who live five hours away.

Relationships are real. And eternal. And as mysterious as the God who designed them.

What a relief.