My wife and I grew up going to the same church until I was about 7 years old and moved away. My father was the pastor of this small country church and a lot of my wife's family attended there as well.

Her great grandmother Geraldine went there (and still goes there) as well. She had been a long-time member. Her late husband, Donald, passed when me and my wife were children. Personally, I cannot recall him in my memory. But, I remember Geraldine. I will always remember her.

One day, after church supposedly (I'm recalling off of other's memories, not my own), I went over to Grandma Geraldine's house for a wheat bread, bologna, and mustard sandwich. I was always hungry as a kid, and nothing is worse than having to wait on your parents to finish meetin' and greetin' while your stomach is sucking up against your spine. So, I marched myself right over to her house (she lived just about 40 yards from the church on the same side of the road) and she proceeded to take care of me and my parent's "neglect." Meanwhile, there is a mad and crazy search going on for me inside of the church building. My parents, thinking the worst possible, were frantic when it neared 30 minutes or so since I had been seen. Suddenly, someone came over and reported that I was over at Mrs. Geraldine's, eating lunch.

From that day on, every Sunday, I went over after church and she gently and happily made me a sandwich.

I eventually married her great grand-daughter and became part of the family. I see her a lot nowadays. In fact, her 90th birthday is this Saturday. I know we will all be showering her with gifts that day, but I don't think we could ever fully repay her for all she has given us, namely: The Love that has been shown time and time again, Prayers for us that have gone without ceasing, an Example that does not dim, and Sandwiches that I can still taste.