This afternoon I got the call I knew would eventually come but had been dreading. It was my mom, and right away, I knew something was wrong. “Grandma?” I guessed, as I pulled over on the side of the road. Tears started streaming down my face as she confirmed my fears—Grandma had died. Quietly, on the back deck in a small Midwest town while shucking corn, Anabel Larson went to be with Jesus.
A loving and faithful wife, mother, grandma and great-grandma said goodbye to pain and suffering. In one sense, it’s a relief to know she’s no longer in pain, but in another, more real sense, the void grows bigger each time I realize she’s gone. She won’t be there for my wedding and my kids won’t know this amazing woman (though I’m determined to name one of my daughters after her). Instead, they’ll know her through stories—stories of the food, the Golden Book collection, the red barns and red ball guns her kids and grandkids grew up on. She’ll live on through recipes I’ve gotten from her and when I have my kids memorize Psalm 23, I’ll tell them how much she loved it.
I’ve inherited a lot of things from Grandma—the love of a bargain, the inability to resist a garage sale, some teacups, recipes and a sewing machine. But what I remember best and am most thankful for is the godly heritage of a woman who selflessly and tirelessly served others, loved her family and loved the Lord most of all. In the grand scheme of things, one person may not seem like a big deal, but together with Grandpa, Grandma had an influence that has and I am convinced will continue to span the globe from here to eternity.