So even to old age and gray hairs, O God, do not forsake me,
until I proclaim your might to another generation,
your power to all those to come. Psalm 71:18

She is one of the funniest people I know. And I am not just saying that because she adopted me recently as one of her grandchildren. She really is hysterically quick-witted, the kind of lady who, if you say, “have you lived in Georgia your whole life?” would respond, “not yet!” She is a delight to me and to so many and you really need to meet her. Her name is Grace Bullock, but everyone calls her Ms. Grace.

Ms. Grace is 86 years old and is one of the key leaders at Woodland Creek Church in Dacula, GA where I pastor. We started the church almost two years ago and she was one of the founding members, part of the small cohort of believers that we inherited (O blessed inheritance!) from Northside Baptist along with a barn, a log cabin and 13 acres of land in a busy suburb of Atlanta. The barn was our sanctuary for a while (now our youth building), the cabin is now the parsonage from which I write this post, and the land is beautiful. But the people were the best gift. And Ms. Grace the icing on the top of the cake.

She has lived most of her life in Georgia, buried two husbands, raised her children and been a member of several Baptist churches. She has, at various times, served as a bible study teacher, children’s teacher, and now Prayer Team leader. When I talked with her about serving in our new church, she said, “Roger, I can’t do a lot of things at my age, but I can pray.” So she became the leader of our Prayer Team.

Grace and I talk on the phone almost every week, sometimes for an hour or more. And whenever I can, I take her to lunch at Puckett’s, where we almost always order fried chicken and sweet tea and split a piece of pie. We both share a love of growing things; gardens and people, family and churches. Until a few weeks ago, she hosted a prayer small group in her home on Monday nights, where she cooked legendary Southern meals and taught people to pray out loud and pour their hearts out to God. Every other week they would minister to the community: giving gift bags to teachers, making breakfast for firemen. She named the group the Taproots (all our small groups are named treeish names) because she says prayer is the root from which all other ministry grows. And she’s right. She and I have prayed for our church, for the lost, for her kids and grandkids, for my family, for encouragement, for health problems, for the gospel to be shared, and for workers for the harvest. And we keep on praying.

Grace knows something about relying on God. She grew up poor in Buford, Georgia. She married young, as most girls did then, and she and Frank did the best they could to provide for and raise 3 girls and a boy. She never owned her own home, and used to ride in the sidecar of Frank’s motorcycle. We all wish we had a picture of that.

Many years after Frank died, she met Mr. Bullock, and this good Christian man liked her sharp wit and kind heart. They were married nine months, and then he passed away. She lived with her daughter for a while, but about the time I met her she moved to a public housing apartment a few blocks from where she grew up. She walks to the dollar store, takes care of her elderly neighbors (who are younger than her, but she refers to them as “old ladies”), and finds time to sew teddy bears for friends and family and for customers who give her a special piece of material to turn into a keepsake gift.

But her greatest love is her families, the one she was born into, and the one she was born again into, her church. Her blood family has not turned out quite like she would have hoped; very few of her kids and grandkids are Christ-followers, and it breaks her heart. But she prays for them, every day, and shares Christ with them on the phone, in visits and in her letters. Her church family is not perfect either, but it is strong in love and passion for Jesus. This family has grown, and she extends her love to each new “grandchild”: to Ben, our church planting missionary in North Carolina and his wife and baby boy whom she visited on a road trip a few weeks ago; to college students; to all the children at our Harvest Festivals, to whom she is the “pocket lady” with a treasure in each pocket of her apron; to young women who show up at her door to “check on her”, but who are really there to ask her advice and receive prayer. To her bible study class. And especially to me.

I lost my grandmothers years ago, and my dad six years ago when he was 56. I need all the family I can get. And so I was glad a few weeks ago when Ms. Grace told me she had adopted me as one of her grandchildren. What a privilege. It is so good as a young pastor to have older, godly friends to depend on, to confess to, to vent to, to pray with. And she does all that for me. Her wisdom, her humor, and her love have made good days brighter and have helped me through some difficult days.

And now she has some difficult days of her own.

She has never been able to see out of her right eye, and for several months now, her left eye has been deteriorating. Ms. Grace is going blind.

She has gotten a large print bible (a gift from her “kids”, her bible study leader Hubert Spyres and his wife Christie), and we’ve talked about getting a large print phone. She’s seen her doctors and many, many prayers have been said. But she is still losing her sight. And still she prays, for herself and for the rest of us.

I’ve heard a lot of young pastors complain about older people in the church, and I am sure some of their concerns are warranted. But that is not my experience. I rejoice tonight at the faithfulness of an amazing generation who have steadfastly given their lives for the cause of Christ and for His people. Ms. Grace, to me, embodies all that I want to be when, and if, I live to her age. She is old, yes, but she is sharp, and she loves Jesus, and she leads with wisdom and yes, grace, and she serves sacrificially and chooses to love all of us and does so very, very well.

And she prays. Without ceasing, with much rejoicing, often with many tears, alone and with others, in good times and bad. And I am glad. And I know that God is glad.

I promised I would print this out for her, as she does not have email or a computer. So let me add one more thing, just a brief note to my dear friend:

I love you, Ms. Grace. Thanks for adopting me, thanks for making me laugh, thanks for your wisdom and leadership here at Woodland Creek. And thank you for praying.