I am originally from Jacksonville, FL, and have lived in Louisville for 23 years. I am married to a wonderful husband, Christopher. We have three grown daughters who are married and raising 9 of my precious Littles. My Littles come over most weekends and spend much of the summer with us—not all of them, mind you, as I am not crazy—but a good number of them at a time. They range in age from 15 to 3 years old.

My testimony begins with my grandfather, who was as close to a saint as I would define one here on earth. He loved and treated everyone he met with respect. It did not matter your status in life; he would show you compassion and serve anyone, regardless of their race, nationality, gender, religion, or economic status.

This man, one time, went to a funeral of a mechanic he thought worked on his car—just to show the family the respect they deserved. There are only four men in my life who have ever had an impact on my mental and spiritual growth, and he was one of them.

Some background on him to put his life in focus: he became a Southern Baptist deacon at the age of 21. This was shortly after a sawmill accident that crippled his left wrist permanently. I will not go into the gory details, but know that divine intervention had to have played a role, as this was in the 1930s, and technology was not what it is today. He was blessed to have his hand still attached.

It is for this reason that he lived every day with the wisdom of knowing that Jehovah Jireh was his provider for everything he had, was, and would ever be. He made every decision led by the Holy Spirit. He moved once because an apartment down the street was $10 cheaper, which would afford his family and the church, through his tithe, some extra income.

This man loved his church and understood that 100% of who we are revolves around those we choose to have speaking into our lives. He also lived in such a way that his testimony was evident in his body language—not just in the words he used daily. He lived a life that showed how to be the hands and feet of Jesus.

It was through this that I witnessed what it was to be a follower, not just a supporter, of Jesus. This man prayed at every meal, and I know that I was prayed for at least three times a day because he mentioned me and my family in every one of those prayers. I also know that he spent every morning reading his Bible and in a prayer relationship with Jesus.

I watched this growing up, and as a child, my sister and I made fun of how many times he would pray and how much time was “wasted” in his endeavor to have a relationship with Jesus. As an adult, I now understand how crucial it is that we model these values for our children and grandchildren. If they are not seeing this from us, then they will get what the world offers—and that only brings pain.

Ok, so I told you all that so that the following paragraph will make more sense in the impact it had on my life and those who were at my grandfather's funeral in 1994.

My grandfather's birthday was March 31, 1909. In 1994, he ended up in a hospital so full of cancer that the doctors could not understand how he was even alive. He was 84 years old.

This was in March, and his church, the First Baptist Church of Callahan, had built a new sanctuary that would have its first service on Easter Sunday, April 9th. My grandfather's wish was to worship his Lord and Savior in that “beautiful” new sanctuary on Easter Sunday.

My sister and I had made a plan: if the hospital could not give us a good enough reason not to take him to church that Sunday, then we were breaking him out and giving him the desire of his heart.

God decided for us that His will was not our will. My grandfather died on March 27th, 1994. He did get to be in the new sanctuary, but only the shell of his body.

I was mad at God for taking my grandfather when all he asked for was to worship Him in the new sanctuary. When his funeral took place, many people attended. We found that he had made an impact on people in three different counties and two states.

When it came time for the preacher to speak on the summation of Leon Mozart Mizell’s life, he told us a story that made me sit up and take notice.

It seems that my grandfather had completed the Bible study Experiencing God by Henry Blackaby two weeks before being hospitalized. Then the preacher went on to tell us that he (the preacher) was driving and had an impassioned discussion with Jesus. In this monologue, the preacher accused Jesus of being unfair by taking Leon before he could worship in the new sanctuary that he had patiently waited to be built.

He pointed out to Jesus all the accolades my grandfather had received for being the hands and feet of Jesus to others—how my grandfather was at church every day the doors were open and never missed until he was hospitalized.

The preacher went on to ask Jesus what He was thinking—taking this outstanding servant home and not allowing him the simple pleasure of worshipping in this new sanctuary. When the preacher stopped talking, Jesus began to speak.

He asked the preacher what was so special about a building. Did he not understand that Leon was experiencing Heaven? Jesus then said, “You realize that Leon learned about Experiencing God, but now he is face to face with his Creator.”

The preacher said this statement affected him so much that he pulled over on the side of the road and wept. He spent the next few minutes apologizing for being so full of pride over a building and not realizing that Leon was face to face with Jesus Himself—he was finally home.

I was sitting there, wearing sunglasses, in complete shock that I, too, was mad for no reason. My grandfather was no longer in pain. He was no longer suffering. I couldn't cry there because I was “being strong” for my mother and sister, but a softening in my heart began, and questions started to run through my head.

I spent the following weeks mulling over the newfound knowledge that I was not in God's will. I was always trying to do what I thought was correct for every situation. I knew God existed and thought I was one of His children.

I knew a little about the Bible but not enough to engage in a debate about it. I had a neighbor with whom I started discussing Revelation. At the time, it was the only book of the Bible I had read and studied with any dedication.

We debated all night on April 30th. The next morning, I woke up my husband and daughter and informed them we were going to church with the neighbors. During that service, I accepted the gift of salvation and asked Jesus to be the Savior that I knew I needed.

A few weeks later, I was telling my grandfather's wife that I was a born-again Christian, and she told me what the last words Grandpa ever spoke were. She said that he told everyone—her, the doctors, and the nurses—that Jesus had told him his “girls” were going to be taken care of. He always called my sister and me “his girls.” He died shortly after saying that.

This man lived and breathed the gospel message. I learned from him that it is not always what we say to someone, but rather through many forms that the gospel is preached.

People watch us and learn from our body language what we genuinely believe. Words are just words until the actions back them up.

Thank you for reading my story. I know it might be long, and for that I apologize. I appreciate the opportunity to share with you how my grandfather taught me to trust in Jesus.

I pray that Jesus gives me the opportunity every day to share His love with others.

ledge that I was not in God's will. I was always trying to do what I thought was correct for every situation. I knew God existed and thought I was one of his children. I knew a little about the Bible, but not enough to engage in a debate about it. I had a neighbor with whom I started discussing Revelation. At the time, it was the only book of the Bible I had read and studied with any dedication. We debated all night on April 30th. The next morning, I woke up my husband and daughter and informed them we were going to church with the neighbors. During that service, I accepted the gift of salvation and asked Jesus to be the Savior that I knew I needed. A few weeks later, I was telling my grandfather's wife that I was a born-again Christian, and she told me what the last words grandpa ever spoke were. She said that he told everyone, her, the doctors, and the nurses, in the room, that Jesus had told him that his “girls” were going to be taken care of. He always called my sister and me “his girls”. He died shortly after saying that.

This man lived and breathed the gospel message. I learned from him that it is not always what we say to someone, but rather through many forms that the gospel is preached. People watch us and learn from our body language what we genuinely believe. Words are just words until the actions back them up.

Thank you for reading my story. I know it might be long, and for that I apologize. I appreciate the opportunity to share with you how my grandfather taught me to trust in Jesus. I pray that Jesus gives me the opportunity every day to share his love with others.