My grandma, “Bama” read her Bible in bed every single night, her lamp dimly shining as she silently read.  I loved my Bama, most everything she did. She was one tough woman, fussed a lot, kept us straight. Quiet though in bed with Bible.

That was a lesson, a precious picture for me.

It made a difference.

From putting bacon inside the pancakes to always having the little cookies that looked like daisies in the cookie jar.  But, I remember most her nighttime reading and understand it even more now. Bama knew Jesus.

I know Jesus, but not because of Bama.

I know Jesus because of a journey that started with true surrender and acceptance, way too late and after many rough patches.

I know Jesus because I pray and he hears. 

I know who Jesus is, Son of God, my Savior.

I know Jesus and want to know Him more, to fill my mind and soul with His words, to tell real stories of answered prayers.

Of being lost, thinking I had been found but still lost and then finally really knowing the difference.

The difference is Jesus

That’s knowing who Jesus is.