My grandmother, my last living grandparent in the world, went to be with Jesus today. Her husband of 64 years died in December 2012, which I wrote about in the post entitled Mourning.
She was a strong woman; very matter-of-fact. I remember after my grandfather’s funeral, we were sitting in the small house that she’d lived in forever, sitting at the table, just talking. And she abruptly said “Well, it’s 12 o’clock, time for lunch” and started preparing it. She raised seven children – two boys and five girls – in the tiny house. Her husband passed away quietly in the room right off the living room, where she had gathered her children for school.
I know that this passage speaks of wisdom, but oh how I had this clear visual of her. In one hand, her long life; in the other, the riches and honor that awaited her, along with her husband and her Savior. She was a tree of life, bearing seven children and raising them to be loving parents themselves. Once, when I was much younger, I asked her what made her decide to have seven children; she looked at me with a sort of shock on her face as she told me that “That wasn’t my decision, dear; that was God’s.”