My grandmother, who we affectionately called “Jan Jan” (her name was Janice), passed away earlier this month, after battling with Parkinson’s and dementia for the past several years. I wrote the following to honor her life, and it was read at her funeral. To know Jan Jan was to love her, but regardless of whether you knew her, I hope you also are in some way inspired by her legacy. May this be a reminder of some much needed perspective that elections and opinions aren’t nearly as important as the world wants us to think… in the end, what matters most is how we love God and live that out in the way we love and serve people.

The Bible says, “Be doers of the Word, and not hearers only” (James 1:22). My Jan Jan was a doer. She lived out her faith in service to others. When we were kids, my cousins and I spent Saturday nights with her and Grandaddy pretty often, and I remember her faithfully reading her huge, worn study Bible and studying her Sunday school lesson, in preparation to teach the next morning. But, her faith didn’t end there. Her entire life was poured out in service to those around her, to her church and community, to share Jesus’ love in many tangible ways.

She was the epitome of a Southern lady... perfect hair, nails, and accessorized outfit… but also a hard worker who didn’t mind getting her hands dirty. Maya Angelou said, “I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” Jan Jan treasured her family and made those around her feel special and loved by her kindness, attention, and caring acts of service. She and Grandaddy were high school sweethearts and showed us by example what a devoted Christian marriage looks like for 69 years.

She made homemaking look effortless and kept a spotless, beautiful home. She truly had the gift of hospitality and used it often - cooking, baking, planning, and decorating to serve and celebrate others in love. Anyone fortunate enough - and there were many - to enter her home received the sincere blessing of being warmly welcomed by her as a gracious hostess. Over the years, she made and gave away countless casseroles and loaves of sourdough bread, lemon poppyseed bread, and her legendary pound cake. I’ll forever remember her cooking.

When I was a newlywed, I was asking her cooking questions and trying to take notes, and she was laughing trying to think how to explain it, because as we all know, the best Southern cooks don’t go by a recipe. So, she invited me over one summer afternoon for a cooking lesson, and we made a huge vegetable meal for Grandaddy and Jeff that night - fresh creamed corn, fried okra and eggplant, peas, squash casserole, cornbread - the works. She also gifted me a wooden “okra paddle” as she called it, just like her trusty one - the key to her perfect crispy okra. Often, when they came to Tuscaloosa for doctor appointments, she’d load up a cooler of home cooked food and fresh vegetables and bring by our house – she was always thinking of others.

She and my aunt hosted the most gorgeous, special bridesmaid’s luncheon at her home for me and my bridesmaids the day before my wedding. The flowers and decorations could’ve been featured in Southern Living, and while I don’t remember the actual meal, the dessert - a fancy chocolate cake that she had grated chocolate bars into - was simply unforgettable, along with the way I felt that day.

She was so thoughtful and a wonderful gift giver, but the best gifts she gave were her time and presence. She had a wonderful way of listening and, while she didn’t always have lots of words, wouldn’t hesitate to say what needed to be said in a loving but straightforward way. Some of my best childhood memories were spent at her house - climbing the huge magnolia trees outside, swimming while she brought us popsicles, walking with her on the dirt road behind their house, watching Wheel of Fortune on their small kitchen TV while she cooked or cleaned across the bar, drawing in sketchbooks with the “good” markers she bought for me and kept there, playing dominoes, shucking corn and shelling peas into newspapers on our laps on the back porch, reading next to her in the corner chair under the brass floor lamp - we both shared a love for Reader’s Digest and Guideposts. She sent me a gift subscription to Guideposts every year since college, and it always warms my heart to get it in the mail.

Every week, she took her sister, my great aunt Margene, and “Nannie,” her friend’s mother who was like family, grocery shopping and to “the beauty shop” in Fayette. As a little girl, I spent hours with her there, and the smell of hairspray takes me right back. In true Jan Jan fashion, she opted to go platinum blonde when her auburn hair started graying, and it looked amazing on her. Sometimes she would go to Tuscaloosa to shop or get her nails done, and take me with her - it was such a treat to go to the “big city” with Jan Jan. When I was about five, I loved the gospel singer Cristy Lane and especially her song, “One Day at a Time.” Jan Jan had the cassette tape in her car, and we played it so much, it finally wore out – only a grandmother would play a song on repeat that many times! My brother, cousins, and I had a tradition of spending Christmas night with her and going to the movies the next day, and we’d stay with them in the summer for a week at a time. She always made us pancakes for breakfast, with fresh blueberries from her blueberry bushes. Us grandkids also knew that Jan Jan meant business, and if she threatened to go get a switch off those bushes, we shaped up fast!

There are too many wonderful memories to count with her and Grandaddy at their beach condo, and later house… first with our extended family and cousins, then with our friends as teenagers and young adults - who she and Grandaddy always welcomed like family, and later with my own family and kids. Growing up, one of my favorite memories with her was making and decorating homemade gingerbread men cookies from scratch around Christmas, and she invited Kate over to do this a couple of times when she was little. My girls loved going to Fayette to visit at their house and play with the toys in the back closet that Jan Jan had since we were kids. She loved talking to them and watching them grow up. What a gift that they got to know their great grandparents!

Over the past few years as we’ve watched Jan Jan’s body and mind decline, and especially over the past week, the Lord has brought this old hymn to my mind:

“Precious Lord, take my hand

Lead me on, let me stand

I am tired, I am weak, I am worn

Through the storm, through the night

Lead me on, to the light

Take my hand, precious Lord

Lead me home.”

While I miss her with my whole heart, I am simultaneously filled with joy and relief that she’s now fully healed with a new body and mind, sitting at the feet of Jesus and praising Him for all eternity. She is finally “home,” thanks be to our gracious God!