For Generations to Come

Tucked away in a small house down a rocky road in Greenville, North Carolina live my grandparents. My grandpa was a preacher and my grandma, a prophetess. Growing up, I loved going to see my grandparents. I felt such pride being the granddaughter of Elder Isaac Jacob Robinson, pastor of his own church, loved and respected by many. Yet, as a child, hours in their home wasn't my ideal way to spend the afternoon. Visits to his quiet corner meant sitting in a TV-less living room answering politely when spoken to and trying to entertain myself while the grown folks talked for what felt like an eternity. But as I matured my appreciation for this couple deepened.

My grandpa got sick and my grandma began to lose her sight. Soon he couldn't make it out of the house, then he couldn't make it out of his room. When we grandkids would go to visit him we'd gather around his bed and listen to him talk. Sometimes he'd confuse his past memories for the present reality. He had lost so much weight, I was able to see bones barely covered by a layer of skin. He was losing his physical strength but his joy had always been so deeply rooted in his Savior, Jesus Christ. Our most recent visit was Christmas day. When asked how he was doing he confessed to reoccurring pain throughout his body. But even so, there was no shortage of laughter in those corners that night.

Grandpa grew quiet and rested while we talked about life growing up with each other. I wanted to tell him that I was going abroad soon. But I hesitated, fearful of how the conversation would go. I can't remember a time when I ever had a true conversation with him. Yes, I had spoken to him, but never talked freely about whatever was on my mind. I had respected him on such a level that when it came to building a relationship with him I was apprehensive. I sat there worried that it was too late to start now. Would he understand? Would it matter? And while wrestling back and forth internally, my grandma popped her head in the room. "Amanda, I thought you were already off to Wales?" Surprised I turned to face her. How had she known. I responded by telling her I leave on the 23rd of January. "I thought you left December 23rd. We'll you're all ready to go. I've been on my knees before the throne praying for you for weeks now. Yep, don't you worry, the Lord is sovereign and He will have his way with you in Wales." Y'all I was shook. All I could do in response was exclaim a million "thank you's" just wishing she knew the burden her prayers had lifted off my shoulder. Then it slowly dawned on me that not only had she been praying for my semester over seas, but she'd been praying for me all my life. And not only over me but each of my cousins. And not only us, but the whole entire family.

I am confident that the many hours my grandparents have spent interceding for me are the reason I now have a relationship with God. And I am forever grateful.

Before we left my grandpa's room, we stood around him holding hands and gave thanks to the Giver of all good gifts. As I listened to each of my cousins pray, I was reminded that none of us came to Christ on our own. The Lord pursued us, because my grandparents loved us enough to continuously pray. They are prayer warriors, and I believe that their prayers will reach generations beyond their years.

Psalm 78:6-7 "...that the next generation might know them, the children yet unborn, and arise and tell them to their children so that they should set their hope in God and not forget the works of God, but keep his commandments;"