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She never had a “real job.” A big salary and benefits package seemed to avoid her throughout her entire life. There were no trips to the beauty shop or appointments to get her nails done. Awards didn’t fill her wall and there were no degrees from a university or seminary. If her knees could talk they would tell of hours of bouncing babies and untold years of bowing in prayer.
Much of her life was spent giving. To the poor, she gave money. To the needy, she gave clothes. To the hurting, she gave comfort. To everyone, she gave. She gave wisdom to the confused, grace to the weary, and love to the unlovable.
She taught me that testimonies are not something you give, they are something you live. That the best sermons do not come from a pulpit, they come from a life. That all of us are either a missionary or a mission field. Either we should be sharing Christ with someone, or someone should be sharing him with us.
I watched her stand through the storms of life with an unwavering faith. When trials came, she trusted. When tribulation came, she trusted. When Alzheimer’s came, she trusted.
God didn’t send this great woman of faith to Africa. His plan didn’t call for her to minister to the masses. Instead, God sent her to me. So that I could spend twenty five years witnessing what a true Christian is. Thank you Grandma, for being God's missionary to me.
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