There’s something sacred about reading from my Grandma Mabel’s Bible. The pages are soft, some barely hanging on, worn thin from time and touch. But that wear tells a story—it speaks of years of faith lived out, prayers whispered, tears cried, and praises sung. It’s not just a book. It’s a legacy.
Today I was reading Ephesians, and as I turned the fragile pages, I smiled. She had underlined the same verses that have always stood out to me—words about grace, strength, and abundance. Isn’t it something how even after all these years, her heart and mine still align? That’s what love and faith do. They link generations in ways deeper than time.
I have the fondest memories of Grandma. She had a quiet strength and a steady presence that anchored our family. The relationship between her and my mom was beautiful—close, kind, and rooted in mutual respect. Watching them, I learned what it meant to love without condition and to show up for each other no matter what. I always felt like my mom and I shared something similar—a connection that felt timeless, safe, and full of grace.
Grandma had patience with me, and that says a lot. I was, as she’d probably say with a grin, a “character-building experience.” Full of energy, constantly moving, always into something. I remember her trying to teach me to sew, bless her heart. She gave it her best shot—right up until the moment I accidentally sewed my dress to the ironing board. That might’ve been the end of my sewing career, but it was far from the end of her patience.
What she did manage to teach me, though, was how to cook. And I’m so grateful for that. My husband Skipper is especially thankful for those lessons! But the most important thing she passed down was far greater than recipes or sewing tips. It was her faith.
Her life was not easy. There were deep hardships, heartbreaks, and many seasons of struggle. But her faith was always deeper than the hard. She leaned into God with everything she had, and that foundation shaped everything. She adored her family and loved us with a fierce tenderness. She prayed for us. Protected us. Believed in us. Even when life was heavy, she carried a light that could not be dimmed.
There is one photo of her (with the watermelon) that I love the most. She’s smiling—really smiling—and that wasn’t something we often saw in 
pictures. But that photo captures what I always knew about her: her life may have been marked by challenges, but it was also full of joy—a joy that came from the inside out, a joy rooted in Jesus.
Her Bible sits on my table now, and I turn its pages often. I trace the underlines with my fingers. I imagine her voice reading those verses. And I carry her with me—not just in memories, but in the way I live, the way I love, the way I believe. Her life may have ended, but her legacy? It’s still breathing, even through Mabel Joy, the therapy dog named in her honor, who now brings comfort and light to others just like Grandma did.
On days like today, when I find my favorite verse was also hers—I smile. Because that’s more than a coincidence. That’s God, reminding me that I’m still being shaped by a woman who shaped so many.
Thank you, Grandma Mabel. For your patience. Your prayers. Your love. Your faith. And for a Bible that still speaks.
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