My grandma was born May 7th, 1925. She was born again in 1975. She went home to be with Jesus on December 1, 2002. She would’ve been 88 this year.

Sometimes I think about the hardships she faced, being the only minority in a small Midwest town, especially being Japanese, coming to America not long after WWII. For the life of me, I can’t remember a single time she complained. Not when she got cancer, not when we lost grandpa, not when she got cancer again. She trusted God in a way I’m only beginning to learn how to do. Sometimes I remember her laugh. I could hear her smile through the phone, 1549.4 miles away, when I’d call her to tell her all the words I’d picked up in Japanese class. I remember her dancing around the living room with my dad, even though she had to use her walker. She loved to talk to God. She’d pray until the food got cold, and she never left anyone out of her prayers. I feel guilty about wanting my room back when she came to visit. When you’re 9, you don’t realize that time is short. I’d gladly give up my room if it meant I’d have just a little more time with her. I wish she could see who I grew up to be, that she could know that her faith has been such a huge part of my life… There are questions I wish I could ask her, things I’ll never know about her except through the lens of my mother’s memory… I know right now she’s totally consumed in the presence of her God, and not capable of worrying about me. She can’t see me or watch out for me, but all the prayers she prayed for me are still being answered. God is not restrained by time or space, and He never goes back on a promise. I’m thankful to have had such a wonderful woman of faith as my grandma. God is good, indeed.


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