Grandma

Grandma Earnestine was a christian. She loved the Lord. And every Sunday morning, rain or shine, she was in church -- front row. Pastors from all over Alabama knew her, too. Heck, I think everyone did. She'd always be the one praying and shouting the loudest, which, of course, is how they loved it. They couldn't get enough.

I used to love going to church with her. Not because of the preaching so much, but because seeing my slightly obese grandma run around the santuary was more than amusing. It was downright histerical. They'd put that holy music on, and that was her cue. She was gone, baby. I'm talking jumping, and shouting, and singing.

I always did wonder where she got the energy. Grandma was a big lady. Stout. Heavy. Fat, even. Picture this: Obese, elderly, black woman running around the church screaming, "hun nan na nan." Yeah, it still gives me the giggles.

She definitely knew who her Lord and Savior was.

Even when she was dying from cancer, her faith never wavered. Now for us, it was devastating. We couldn't bare seeing our grandma -- our big mama -- dying. Amazingly enough, though, while we were all crying and begging God to save her, she was praying for us. On her death bed, my grandma was more concerned about her family than herself. God, she was an amazing woman.

That was who she was. Her life wasn't complicated, at all. She cooked during the holidays, worked for the rich, and worshipped Jesus Christ. Her goals were simple: Pray for her family, pray for her friends, pray for her enemies, and live the way Jesus would want. She was four for four.

Love you, Grandma.