My grandmas were always old. Funny how that is. I wonder if my grandchildren think I’m old. I won't ask.

Anyway, Grandma was not even five feet tall. And she had a little heft on her. Her hair left the bun when it was combed out at night, but it was pinned back up by daylight. It may have happened, but I never saw her in anything but a dress—and there was usually an apron on top of that dress. She wore opaque hose and laced up, stout heeled granny shoes. She moved slow, but she got the job done.

She gave birth to 13 children and raised six lovely daughters and five strapping sons to adulthood. Stories are told about raising those kids that would curl your hair. But, in testimony of sisu, she lived over 100 years!

We all wore woolen mittens and socks she knit — the kind that shrank up and smelled funny when they got wet, but our hands stayed warm! She wasn’t our playmate, she was just Grandma. Each of her 59 grandchildren respected and loved her.

Her heart was that we would love the Lord, and she liked to talk about that.

When she died I wore a hot pink dress to her funeral. After all, it was a celebration! She was finally home.

And graveside, although there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, as her casket was lowered there was a loud thunderclap.

"Welcome home, Lizzie!"

“...Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on!” “Yes,” says the Spirit, “so they may rest from their labors, for their deeds follow with them.” Revelation 14:13