I remember talking to Granny on an October evening, she was laying in bed telling me about her life and I was listening intently from the floor, holding her hand. This would be one of the last meaningful conversations we would ever have.
In the months that followed Granny suffered a series of strokes that ultimately led to her being hospitalized in the spring of the new year.
During that conversation we talked about her childhood, her dating life, and her mom and dad who I called Kay and Grandad Jordan. Grandad had spent his life as a Methodist preacher.
I was his only granddaughter and I was the apple of his eye. Granny, his only daughter had to be a close second. They were very close. Granny grew up a preacher’s kid but her faith really wasn’t a central part of who she was.
As a child and even as an adult for that matter, I was in church on Easter and Christmas only. At that time if you were to ask me about my faith it wouldn’t go very far. So late that October evening our talk drifted to faith, God and prayer.
The words just came out of my mouth…Granny do you pray? Granny do you know Jesus?
I knew she was going downhill and in my heart of hearts I needed to know these answers. I needed to be assured where she was going and selfishly if I would be reunited with her.
After I blurted out these words I realized how uncharacteristic it was for me to ask. You see I went to church but my relationship with Jesus was a distant one, so I was shocked that this even came out of my mouth.
Granny chuckled and said yes that she knew Jesus and that she prayed everyday. And that was good enough for me.
I assured her that this was important and that I loved her so very much.
The next day when I left her house I knew something had changed in me at that very moment. Months would pass and then I got the phone call that she had been hospitalized.
I drove to San Angelo to be with her. Granny was incapacitated. It was one of the worst times of my life. Without much family support I dealt with the nurses and physicians for several days. I called her estranged brother to inform him he should come, that these were her last days. He never came.
I prayed over her which was really unlike me. I read scriptures from my newly purchased Bible. My car became my refuge. I’d escape to my Nissan to plead with God for help. The local Christian radio station comforted me. Even though it felt like it, I wasn’t coming unhinged. A strength welled up inside of me unlike ever before.
Something was happening.
The moment came when it was time to talk hospice care, something none or us are ever prepared to do. She was moved to hospice and was there for a day. I said my goodbye to Granny for the evening and in response she fluttered her eyes at me. I knew that she heard me, she heard my words and felt my kisses and my love.
I drove just 30 minutes outside of town and got the call that she had passed away.
As I cried and screamed in the car on the drive home my heart knew it was time to draw a line in the sand.
I didn’t know exactly what that meant but I knew I was ready to catch the baton and to take a stand to say “I’m on this team”. I wanted the mark, as one of His followers.
The following month I was baptized at Riverbend Church in Austin, Texas. I made a public confession that Jesus is my Savior, surrendering my life to Him.
Little did I know that what was to follow would be pretty ah-mazing and that I would never be the same me again.
My story is my life’s confession. It has morphed in great big unimaginable ways and I’m incredibly grateful that God used my Granny to bring me to the most important decision of my life.