A Woman Named Anet

In my life I have been blessed to have two incredible female role models- my mother and my paternal grandmother. I have much to say about my beautiful mother, but this one is for my grandma, who is waltzing right into her 80s this month. Or maybe she's doing the fox trot... Either way.

As a child my grandma, Anet, lost her own mother to a dislodged blood clot after the birth of her little sister.  In the wake of her death and other past tragedies, her father found himself unable to
love her and her siblings in any meaningful way beyond providing for their basic needs of food,
clothing, and shelter. A stepmom later showed some initial promise for motherly love, but grew cold and disinterested in her stepchildren when her own first child was born. This void of parental affection was filled in part by my grandma'a grandfather, Alexander - a man of character, compassion, and unusual generosity. Alexander kept my grandmother's father from putting her and her siblings up for adoption and then helped to take care of them after their mother's death.

Grandma used to tell us a story about Alexander from the time shortly following Pearl Harbor. A dark side of American history during this time was the rounding up of Japanese citizens to take to holding camps, where they would spending several years and then emerge with nothing.  Alexander had Japanese neighbors, and upon discovering a bus had come for them firmly planted himself in front of the bus, appealing to anyone who would listen. No one did, and he was dragged away by his own humiliated son. My grandma, however, had never been so proud.  I imagine this man is where she got her spirit.


Grandma Anet would meet her future husband of 50 plus years and counting in University. One of their stories involves a Sadie Hawkins dance where the girl has to catch the boy she wants to take to the dance.  Grandma chased grandpa and he climbed up a flagpole and wouldn't come down. Perhaps he thought he was being playful and charming.  Or maybe he thought she'd punch him out for being so hard to get like he saw her punch out some guy heckling her and the other cheerleaders at a game. At any rate, she caught him eventually in one sense or another and they later got married.

My grandma was a committed Christian however, and my grandpa anything but. Though he was,
she says, the most moral man she knew - being determined not to follow in the footsteps of his
abusive and immoral father and well intending but troubled mother.  Despite his hostility towards Christianity, my grandfather later converted - completely and dramatically. His encounter with Christ turned him inside out, erasing over night long and deeply held fear, hatred, and prejudice, giving him a new freedom, a new identity, and a new purpose in life.

My grandma was thrilled with his conversion, something she had been hoping and praying for all along. However, she soon found that he was being a bit more extreme in his new found faith than she was comfortable with. He was ready to test and try everything taught by Christ and his apostles and see what happened. The most poignant story that captures this is a story about milk.  It was the end of the month and the little they had left of my grandpas paycheck was just enough to buy milk for their small children.  They were on their way to church, and feeling a little concerned about Grandpa's new propensity to give away their money in the offering plate, Grandma made sure to mention several times that they needed to buy milk on the way home. Grandpa muttered something noncommittal which only unsettled her more. Sure enough, the offering plate was passed, and she witnessed with a sinking stomach and surging anger the last of their money pass by with the rest of the offering.

At home Grandma let him have it.  How could he? They didn't even have milk for the kids! Their fridge was empty! With a flare of drama she threw open the fridge door for effect. But instead of revealing an empty fridge that proved her point, she found a fridge stocked from top to bottom with school sized cartons of milk.  A milkman they hardly knew had randomly driven through their neighborhood while they were at church and on whim unloaded the surplus cartons of milk in their fridge when he saw they weren't home. Grandma was speechless, Grandpa was ecstatic. From that time on, my grandma told me, she knew she could trust God.

And trust Him she has.  My grandparent's adventures in faith would take them to hippie communes to Hopi reservations to the founding of a little ministry that has become a big ministry called Faith Comes By Hearing.  My grandma raised four kids, three of whom were rowdy and rambunctious boys who would later join them in ministry.  When her time raising kids was done, she put her heart into whatever task God put before her.  In her 50s she began traveling internationally, setting up recording studios sometimes out in the bush of Africa, helping record the Word of God in the native languages of people all over the world. She slept in tents in Botswana, travelled independently around Egypt and spoke often about Russia. Through her courage and independence, her willingness and dedication to the God she could trust, my grandma has made her mark on this world. And she's not done yet. 

A while back Grandma sent me an email that included the line, " Get your running shoes on, there's a race to run". 8 decades into her life and Anet is still running. And I imagine she'll go right on running across the finish line, being greeted on the other side by cheers and high fives from the great cloud of witnesses. Or maybe she'll do the fox trot. Either way.