My great-grandmother is named Ruth Jackson. She just turned ninety years old on April 13th. This article is dedicated to her, and all that she has meant to me over the years.

I am the oldest of Ruth Jackson's great-grandchildren. I am also the youngest Sunday school teacher at the church that we both attend. Now, I don't exactly fit the stereotype for Sunday school teacher; most people picture Sunday school teachers as being modestly dressed, fairly conservative middle-aged women, and I am very much the opposite. In case you didn't know, I am a twenty-year-old college student with purple hair. I also have eight piercings and several tattoos.

I know a lot of you are wondering why on earth I'm talking about myself when I said I was writing this for Ruth Jackson, but bear with me, I promise it is relevant.

On more than one occasion, I have had a parent walk into my classroom, look around and see, among the crowd of students, only me; I'm usually sitting on the edge of a table or on the back of a chair like some sort of gremlin, so I won't deny that it is pretty reasonable for them to ask, "So, where's the teacher?"

When I respond to their question and say, "Well, I am the teacher," I swear I can see a little part of their soul shrivel up, and I know they start to worry about their kid becoming some sort of circus clown or joining a biker gang or what-not, because obviously, those are the only acceptable places for purple hair and multiple piercings and highly visible tattoos. But I have a phrase prepared for this exact situation; all I have to say is, "Do you know Ruth Jackson? She's my great-grandmother," and suddenly the skies are clear, and this parent's little angel is going to go to college after all. The opinion they have about me doesn't change because of anything I did - it changes simply because I have a strong association with Ruth Jackson. They may not trust the purple-haired college-student standing in front of them, but they certainly trust the great-granddaughter of Ruth Jackson.

Ruth Jackson, affectionately known as Sweet-n-Low among her friends. Ruth Jackson, who, along with her husband Lamar, my Pawpaw, became some of the staple members of Midway Church way back in 1955 - sixty-four years ago. Ruth Jackson, the woman who has been teaching in the children's center of this church for longer than this building has existed - who, in fact, the children's wing is named after. Ruth Jackson, who managed to raise two rowdy boys who grew up to become examples of integrity and strength to their own families - my Great-Uncle Allen and my grandfather, who I call Papa. The woman who I have seen making friends with the wait-staff at O'Charley's and whose order the local Subway servers know by heart.

She is a woman who every week, goes to the food pantry and serves, because she is incredibly compassionate. She attends church service every week, despite the music being too loud and boisterous for her liking, because she has exemplary dedication. She has a prayer list about 2.7 miles long that she updates with names of even people she hardly knows because she has unwavering sympathy.

This is who she is to everyone around her.

Now, this is who she is to me:

She is my Mawmaw. She is the woman who, when I was six years old and still in gymnastics, when my parents worked forty-five minutes away and couldn't get off work in time to come to pick me up, she would come and take me to Wednesday night's children's services here at Midway. She stands a whopping four foot eight, and for that reason, she is the one who a hundred percent ruined my chances of ever being taller than a meager five feet tall. I don't know how my younger brother managed to make it to be as tall as he is, but I'm certain foul play was involved.

She is the woman who told me Bible stories whenever I asked her to, because I swear she knew more than anyone. Her biscuits are legendary, though not as much as her chocolate eclair. Both dishes have served as entire meals for me at some point, and I regret nothing. She is the woman with whom I will sit on the front porch in the summers, watching hummingbirds battle like tiny fighter jets, while we gossip about our various family members acting like hooligans. She is the only woman I know who has regularly called me by my first, middle, and last names - and God have mercy on me when she does. She is also the only person I know who I have absolute faith could tell a mountain to move and it would do so - she just needs to call it by it's first, middle, and last name.

I spent my summers climbing the massive magnolia tree next door to Mawmaw and Pawpaw's house, even when they told me not to. I practiced reading on the floor of her den; The Great Whale Migration was one of the first books I learned to read all the way through by myself. Mawmaw and Pawpaw taught me how to make homemade ice cream in this weird bucket thing, and I remember them both laughing one time when I rolled the bucket too far and had to chase after it across the driveway. More importantly than how to make ice cream, they taught me what it means to stick by your word, to fulfill your promises, to have integrity and love for those around you. Theirs was a marriage and a love that taught me what the "old married couple" should look like, rather than just the grouchy and bickering images that movies and TV showed me.

Later, when Pawpaw passed away, Mawmaw would teach me about courage in the face of unimaginable grief. When I was growing older and wilder and raging with rebellion and disobedience, she taught me forgiveness in the face of righteous anger. She taught me resilience, and kindness, and selflessness.

Above all, she taught me love. She taught me to love fiercely, to love steadfastly, to love patiently, to love kindly. She taught me to love without envy or boasting or pride. She tells me that she loves me every time I speak with her, when she greets me, when I leave, and several times in between. Her love is one of the few things in this world that I have no doubts or reservations about.

Mawmaw taught me all of these things without ever having to explicitly tell me, because Mawmaw teaches and lives through the example that she sets for others. It is because she lives through example that I know she has taught so many others the same things during her long life. Her light shines on everyone she touches, and I know she touches everyone she meets. The indisputable evidence of this can be seen in the fact that over 200 people showed up to her ninetieth birthday, and they certainly didn't come for the free food.

This is who Ruth Jackson is to me, and this is who she is to us. Ruth Jackson, born ninety years ago, whose long life and unfailing love we celebrate today. Ruth Jackson, whose reputation precedes her enough to make parents of elementary students trust a stranger, simply because of that stranger's association with her.

Because, I'll say it again, those parents don't trust me because of anything I did. They trust me because they assume that I must be something like Ruth Jackson - something like my Mawmaw. I hate to disappoint, but I am not so arrogant as to say that I deserve such comparisons. Mawmaw, you have ridiculously tiny feet (she wears a kids' size four), but those are some really big shoes to fill. I have to say, though, every time I realize that they are comparing me to you, I get a little thrill - it really is such a huge compliment, to be compared to Ruth Jackson. Mawmaw, I just want to say, if I could be even a quarter of the woman you have shown yourself time and time again to be, I wouldn't just call it a success; I would call it one of the greatest accomplishments that I could ever achieve. It is an honor to be associated with you. It is an honor to call you my friend, my family, my Mawmaw.

Mawmaw, I want you to remember this day. Remember these people. We all gathered together for you. This is the impact you have made. This is the love and grace that you have given each of us, shining back on you. This is all for you - because we cherish you, because we honor you, because we love you. This is for you.

So, on behalf of everyone who has ever known you, I want to thank you. Thank you for welcoming us into your life, for feeding us both with food and with love, for being a matriarch not only to our family, but to our community. Thank you, Ruth Jackson - thank you, Mawmaw - for being you, and for an incredible, impactful, inspirational ninety years that you have shared with us. Thank you, and Happy, Happy Birthday.