Growing up, I never fully understood my grandmother’s faith. I only knew that she became a follower of Jesus after losing her son to a car accident. I didn’t know who Jesus was and what he did, but I was happy for Grandmom because it seemed her pain of losing a child could only be comforted by Jesus. Grandmom talked to Jesus often and had peace, so as a child, I knew she was going to be okay because she had Jesus walking by her.
Then, Grandmom had to bury another one of her children.
How much pain is too much pain?
I wanted to ask Grandmom this question after my uncle’s funeral. He had died of cancer. But the question never came out. We were just sitting by each other quietly as I held her hands. Grandmom seemed to know what was in my heart, and she looked at me with tears in her eyes and said, “His grace is sufficient for me…”
Many years later, when I, too, found Jesus, I began to understand Grandmom’s faith.
Jesus never promised his followers a life without pain; instead, He promised peace.
Philippians 4:7 says, “And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”
I think my grandmother knew that peace. Not because her circumstances were peaceful. They weren’t. Her peace came from knowing that God was bigger than her circumstances.
She didn’t need to understand everything to trust Him. She didn’t need every question answered to keep praying. She didn’t need a life without sorrow to believe that God was good. She simply kept holding on.
And perhaps that is what I admired most about her. Her faith was not complicated. It was quiet, steady, and persistent. She prayed, she trusted, and she kept going.
Until the end of her life, she continued to pray for the people she loved.
Now that she is gone, I realize that her prayers were one of the greatest gifts she ever gave us.
Her legacy isn’t something she left in a bank account or a collection of accomplishments. Her legacy is in the faith she passed down. It is in the prayers she whispered. It is in the example she left behind.
She taught me that peace isn’t the absence of pain.
Peace is knowing Who is with you in the pain.
Psalm 30:5 says, “…weeping may stay for the night, but rejoicing comes in the morning.”
I like to think my grandmother finally reached that morning. After a lifetime of loving, losing, grieving, praying, and trusting, she stepped from this life into the presence of the Savior she had chosen to follow so many years before.
And I hope that when I face my own difficult seasons, I will remember her. I hope I will remember that faith doesn’t have to be loud to be strong. Sometimes the most powerful prayer is simply, “Jesus, help me.” We can cry and still believe. We can hurt and still hope. We can have questions and still trust.
And when the pain comes—as it inevitably does—I hope I will do what my grandmother did. I hope I will fall to my knees, call on Jesus, and keep the faith.
Because my grandmother taught me something I will carry for the rest of my life: We may not always find an explanation for our pain, but we can always find Jesus in the middle of it.
We would like to thank Yanna Elliott for writing this blog.
