The power of prayer is amazing.
My Grandmother, Alma Jean, is one of the most beautiful women I know. She lived a rigid life. Married four times to the worst of men, birthed nine wild and crazy children, toiled and labored to make ends meat her entire life and now suffers at the age of 71 from alzheimers.
As she very well knows herself, she often made her own bed. But as anyone who lives a cruddy life, they never expected it to end up like that.
She wasn’t a perfect mother. Made a lot of mistakes. But who doesn’t?
Luke 6:37 says, “Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven.”
Easier said then done. But no one knows what it was like to walk in her shoes.
As a grandmother, she was the best I could ever ask for.
When I was younger, I remember visiting her every weekend. At night I’d crawl into her bed while she was reading her Bible and she’d teach memory verses to me. Vividly, I can picture us going over Psalm 23 a million times until I knew it like the back of my hand.
I still can recite it.
Her warm bed, with lots of blankets and pillows, was so cozy. Maybe that’s why I have 6 pillows on my bed? Hmm.
I remember having dance performances in her living room, watching Martha Stewart and Joel Osteen on the television and sharing the same love for tea and oatmeal.
When I was a little older, I lived with her for a couple of years. I remember us finding a scorpion in her bed and me freaking out. Her being the strong steady person, she acted like it wasn’t a big deal and kept me calm.
In high school on my lunch breaks I would visit her. Her tiny apartment with her thousands of knickknacks and small pup was a safe place.
She has the most beautiful smile, big gorgeous teeth.
Her eyes are hazel and so heartbreaking to see when filled with tears.
She has small hands.
And she has the sweetest prayer language.
Growing up, for some reason I had this overwhelming desire to serve Jesus. The only person I recall growing up that showed the love of Jesus was my grandma. Sure I had an aunt or something in the distance, but I hardly knew them.
Who was praying over my life? Who was a phone call away? Who made me feel like I could be and do anything I wanted? Who always made me feel loved and valued?
My dear sweet Grandmother.
So I guess I’m writing this for two reasons. First, because I want people to be reminded that we have a lot of influence on the ones around us, whether we realize it or not. So live your life in love and in service.
Galatians 5:13 says, “For you have been called to live in freedom, my brothers and sisters. But don’t use your freedom to satisfy your sinful nature. Instead, use your freedom to serve one another in love.”
Second, remember to thank those that have made a difference in your life. Today, my grandma lives two states away and can recall my face but doesn’t really understand who I am. I know she knows that she loved me, still calls me “little Lyssa.” There is something inside her spirit that still remembers. The hardest thing for me is I never really got the chance to tell her how much her prayers and life affected mine. But the great thing is I know I’ll get to see her again one day. I just wish I would have told her in this life and often.
With lots of tears, I love you Grams. My life has been so much richer then it could have ever been, because you introduced me to the love of Jesus. And life couldn’t be any better.


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