Every line on her face tells another story.
Every gray hair holds a lesson.
Every wrinkle on her body says “I got through”.
The crow’s feet by her eyes say, “I got this far”.
Every crease around her mouth shows her lifetime of joy.
Her skin may not be tight, but her heart is firm.
She may not be able to hear a pin drop, but her eyes can read your face like the story books she used to read.
Her hands are course and she has many spots, but she has never been younger.
She has never known God more.
She is what you call old.
She is what you call gray.
She is who you’d call slow and weak.
If you saw her you might not think beauty queen.
You might judge her as cantankerous and mean.
You may call her wrinkled, floppy, and so close to dead.
But not I.
She is a magnificent jewel, a princess of God.
Her gray hair is like a crown upon her head.
She might not outrun you with her legs, but can flip to Ezekiel faster than you would’ve ever said.
Her arms and body may be weak, but her loving heart is strong.
She may be harsh sometimes, but always caring and few times wrong.
She is firm in her faith, shining in her face, and more alive than ever.
Each day she is closer to Jesus. She is my grandma and we will always be together.