I watch the younger couples in our ward (which, these days, is most of them) lugging around diaper bags and strollers, with babes in arms crying or sleeping, toddlers trotting along or getting dragged, and I'm envious.

Child-rearing is the closest we can come to understanding God. Giving all we can when the little ones are hopelessly dependent on us. Standing back and letting them make their own mistakes when they hunger for independence long before they really understand the consequences of their own choices.

It's a glorious ride, even when it's hard. Especially when it's hard.

I hear other grandparents joking about how the best thing about grandkids is that you can give them back.

I don't get the joke. I think the worst thing about grandkids is that I have to give them back.

Though at the moment, the worst thing about grandkids is that all of mine live in the state of Washington, the opposite coast from me.

So I adopt children in the ward. Not officially, of course. They all have perfectly good parents. I just get hungry to hold a baby in that rocking-back-and-forth posture that puts them to sleep, or to tuck a squalling youngster into that football-carry position that often calms them down. I like to hold them by their wrists as they grip my fingers and push up from my lap, trying to stand.

I've found that as long as I'm holding onto a child's tiny hands, I can walk for half an hour or more all around the church as the child toddles along.

Best is when you earn their smiles. Second best, when you earn their parents' smiles because you've given them a bit of a break to get something else done — like deal with the other child whose need is even greater.

When I was growing up, our society didn't give men as much of a chance to get involved with small children. Even now, there are still plenty of men at church who sit there like Buddha while their wives deal with a half-dozen squirming, squeaking children.

Are there still men who, when the weight, solidity, moistness or odor of a diaper indicates that it's time for a change, pass the kid along to Mom to change?

What a mistake.

What such men don't realize is: Diapers aren't icky. No, let me rephrase that: The diaper of your own child is never icky, as long as you accept the responsibility.