Grace & Gumption: The Legacy of My Grandmother

I’d like to introduce you to this beautiful woman, my grandmother Dorothy, who was so influential in shaping me into the person I am today. She inspired me in so many ways, one of which has led to me having the courage to start this site to share my story of hurt and healing with the hope of helping other women. 

Gram, as she was known to her grandkids, was unlike anyone I’ve ever known. She was a rare blend of wisdom and humor, grace and gumption. She was part of the World War II generation, so she was fiercely independent and endlessly resourceful. She was a force of nature, and if she made up her mind to do something, nothing and no one was going to stop her. While anyone who knew her knew that she was not one to be trifled with, we also knew that there was little she wouldn’t have done for those who were blessed to call her family or friend. That unwavering devotion to those she cared for is probably what I admire most about her.

Even though it’s been over five years since she went to be with Jesus, I still catch myself thinking I should call her, wanting to hear her voice and get her advice. Then, a brief flood of sadness rushes in when I remember that I can’t. I’ve noticed I’ve been missing her more than usual lately. She was one of my most vocal cheerleaders and most sage advisors. In times when my confidence faltered, she was quick to remind me of all that I had accomplished and all that she believed me to be capable of. She was the person who reminded me of who I am when I had forgotten. I walked away from our conversations reaffirmed and ready to face whatever lay ahead me.

I would describe our conversations as more like reality checks than pep talks. She was honest (sometimes pointedly so) and I knew she wouldn’t say something she didn’t wholeheartedly mean just to make me feel better, so I believed what she said about me. Looking back on those conversations now, I think I believed her more because, deep down, I knew that some of her grace, some of her gumption had been passed on to me. She is in my DNA. She is a part of me. Her fierce determination and devotion to people are a part of the legacy that she imparted to me as her granddaughter.

Writing this post and sitting with her memory have been good for my soul because I’ve been missing our talks a lot lately. If I’m being honest, this season of my life has been marked by bouts of self-doubt and insecurity and, if there is anyone who could help me see my way clear of the limits I’ve put on myself, it would have been Gram. Even though she was fairly private about her faith, it was strong and she didn’t need to quote Scripture or toss out a religious platitude to provide holy encouragement. Like many times before, she would have reassured me that I could make my way through the haze of the unknown that is obscuring my path. She also would have reminded me that, while it’s good that my faith is strong, it needs to be evidenced by my work, however afraid I am.

I was sharing with someone last week some of my memories of her and that conversation helped me to realize that, even though there’s no substitute for talking with her, she taught me more than enough in the time she was here to be able to talk myself into persevering. I realized that one of the best ways to honor her is to take what she taught me and keep moving forward, knowing that God has equipped me for all that He’s called to do even when it doesn’t feel like it. I think she was one of the first people to tell me that it doesn’t take much faith if we already know how it’s going to turn out.  

I’ve been thinking back on the nuggets of wisdom that I gleaned from her over the years and the first one that comes to mind always makes me smile. I clearly remember a mini-masterclass that took place on a family camping trip with my 8 year old self as the youngest among six male cousins and my older brother. The pack of seven was setting off on some adventure and told me that I couldn’t come with them because I was a girl. I reported back to Gram and relayed the fact that I had been instructed to return to the campsite. Something important to know about Gram is that she was one of those people who didn’t need to raise their voice for you to know there was trouble. I was minding my own business, not doing anything wrong, but I was still scared when the look on her face changed. I barely finished my account of what happened before she firmly instructed me to catch up to them and deliver a message: girls can do anything boys can do and they were not to say that again. In the brief conversation, she made sure that I knew I was capable and to never again let anyone tell me otherwise.

That memory embodies so much of who she was and how she lived her life. She fought for people and the causes that mattered to her while empowering others to see what was possible and what they were capable of even when they couldn’t see it for themselves. Like Moses was to Joshua, I believe God puts people in our lives to teach us, speak to us, and prepare us to live out our calling simply by watching them live out theirs. In the process of writing this tribute to her, that is how I’ve come to see her. Looking back now, I don’t think it was a coincidence that the two roles that she filled for me in my most vivid memory of her are the exact same roles that I’ve been called to fill for others: warrior and advocate.  

Experiencing these last several years of healing from a series of traumatic experiences has ignited a passion in me for helping women who are on their own journey toward healing and wholeness, serving as a compass that points them to Jesus. Throughout my intense healing process (emotional bootcamp, as I call it), God provided abundant grace that sustained, strengthened, and comforted me, but I’ve also had to fight to get to where I am. It’s been hard. It’s been messy. It’s been painful. But it’s been worth it. Through the pain of my past and the refining process of healing, God has been preparing me to withstand the heat of being present with other women who are in the midst of the fire of their own pain. Before I ever realized it, He’s been preparing me to be both warrior and advocate, just like Gram.

In light of this revelation, I’ve been asking myself what she would want me to remember in this moment. I tried to imagine what she would say if she was here. A few of the lessons I learned from her immediately come to mind (not all of them applicable in this situation but valuable nonetheless):

1. Work hard for what you want. Things mean more when you’ve earned them.
2. Just because you can do it all doesn’t mean you have to or should. It’s ok to ask for help.
3. Don’t take criticism from anyone you wouldn’t ask for advice. Not everyone’s opinion is worth the two cents.
4. Play fair. Winning at all costs always costs too much.
5. Treat people’s trust as a gift. Don’t share stories that aren’t yours to tell.
6. Share what you have. We’re blessed to be a blessing.
7. Don’t judge. Everyone has their own burdens that we know nothing about.
8. Speak up for what’s right, even if it’s not what’s popular.
9. Don’t be afraid to challenge the status quo, even if it’s your own. Sometimes you can surprise yourself with what you’re able to accomplish.
10. Live big and leave a legacy. God put something inside you that the world needs, so don’t let fear keep you small.

Those last two hit hardest right now. Stepping out and starting my own business/ministry is scary. Veering off my long-established career path after almost 20 years of working with children and families to work with women who are vulnerable and in need is scary. But I know without a doubt that this is what I’m called to do, and after reminding myself of what Gram would say if she was here right now, I’m going to choose to move forward in faith, trusting that I’m equipped for it because God has given me His unending grace and plenty of Gram’s gumption.  

We all can probably think of someone who left a lasting impression on you or who contributed to who you are today. Share in the comments below about who that is and how they impacted you.

Until next time, Rebels,