My Gran was a gentle soul. His love for his wife, laughter, family and the Lord oozed from every pore of his body. He was extraordinarily patient with his three daughters as well as with his nine grandchildren.

He was an “enlightened” male even before there was a term like “enlightened.” He simply thought he was showing his love for his wife by helping her prepare every meal, helping her with chores, and helping raise their children. My grandparents were both born on August 24th, 1906 in the same small town of Amoret, Missouri. They were playmates during their toddler years and the family has a precious photograph of the two of them in the crib together. They literally grew up together.

My grandparents had such an intimate knowledge of each other that the rest of us would stand in awe (and with some intimidation), as we felt we just couldn’t fully grasp the depths of their love. My Gran loved his wife, Nana, more than he loved his own life. And Nana loved Gran because she felt understood, safe, and loved.

When I was a small child I vividly recall waiting anxiously outside of their bathroom door as I heard the two of the talk in whispers, flush toilets, run water and brush teeth. I learned this is how it was with them; it was always the two of them. Watching my grandparents “dance” was one of the things that made me smile. My grandparents were inseparable.

My Gran knew how to laugh at himself. I can’t remember him ever saying a mean or even a teasing word toward anyone else, but his tales of how he had spun a web and then trapped himself in it were always told in such a way that everyone in the audience ended up clutching their abdomens as the pain of laughter grew in their bellies. We all learned that the best person to poke fun at was the one looking at you in the mirror every day.

My Gran loved to fish. When I was a little girl we would get a summer weekend away with our grandparents at Pickwick Lake. They owned a trailer there that most of us would aspire to own, as it was a masterpiece of woodwork inside. Every morning at 4 AM we would set out to go catch “the big one.” I will never forget when I was about five years old, I had indeed landed a whopper of a catfish. My pole was bent almost all the way into the water and I struggled just to keep hold. Instead of instinctively taking the pole from my hand, my Gran talked me through how to fish: “let the line out” “there you go” “now reel him in a little bit—just one or two spins” “there you go” “just let him tire himself out …” I have always marveled that he only took the fishing pole when we could see the catfish at the water’s edge. He didn’t want to be the only fisherman, he wanted to train new fisherman who would learn to love the tranquility of an early morning, the crackle of water against the boat, and the excitement of just being in such a solemn place.

And my greatest memory was seeing my grandparents early in the morning, holding their daily devotions. They read the Bible together and then prayed for each one of us. We grew up with the knowledge that every day we were being prayed for and we were loved beyond measure. To this day I believe it is those prayers that have sustained me.

My Gran taught me about the intimacy of love. He taught me to laugh at my frailties and to get others to laugh with me. He taught me that teaching and building up others is more important than focusing on yourself. And finally, he taught me that the love of the Lord and the gift of prayer is more precious than silver or gold.

On May 13th, 2005 my grandfather passed away at the age of 98—quietly he moved from this earthly realm into the heavenly realm.