“Grandma the Great,” as we liked to call her, was a great source of peace and inspiration to me, and to all her grandchildren…and a small source of mystery as well. 

For my entire life, Grandma was the Rock of Gibraltar in our family.  In everything she did, she brought a deep and abiding sense of comfort and peacefulness.  She was always attentive to our interests and compassionate about our feelings. 

Grandma was also a tremendous source of inspiration.  We all know how amazing her artistic talents were.  As a grandchild, I was especially inspired by the depth and breadth of her interests that fostered those talents.   Often, her works of art were not merely expressions of her creativity, but they were also dedications to important causes in education, spiritual formation and relief of human suffering. 

While her paintings and weavings were worth thousands of words, her words were remarkably powerful in their own right.  When I became aware of national and international church affairs, I was stunned by how well informed she was of current events.  I remember vividly one occasion when I shared my freshly minted perspectives from attending a World Methodist Conference in Singapore.  We spent hours in deep conversation about the injustices based on race, age and sexual orientation, about the arrogance of imperialism and the wastefulness that occurs every day in our society.  Just read some of her writings.  They attest to her insightful, compassionate and courageous voice of reason.

But my Grandma was also somewhat of a mystery.  I never understood how any human could endure so many of the hardships she suffered as a daughter, mother, wife and citizen, be as thoughtful and outspoken as she was through her writings and quiet conversations, and yet be so even keeled without fail.  I often wondered if someday she would finally boil over or just breakdown.  She never did.  To the very end she remained the constant, devoted person I have always known. 

In my final days face-to-face with her, Grandma often spoke of feeling useless.  Her entire life had been devoted to helping others, and now that her body had nearly given out, she felt her purpose was gone.  I joked with her that while she excelled in many things, she failed utterly in others.  She failed to complain and think of herself first.  She failed to ask for and accept help from others as often as she needed it.  She wanted things to be they way they were, so that she could continue to serve others. 

One of my last—and perhaps strongest—memories of Grandma is when I took hold of her, my palms pressed against her cheeks and our teary eyes locked on each other.  I said, “Grandma, your body may be useless, but your mind and spirit are still blessings in our lives.  Let us help your ailing body while you continue to teach us to be courageous, compassionate family members and world citizens.

By Erik Britt-Webb, Betty’s eldest grandchild

The Broken Chain

We little knew that morning, that God was going to call your name.

In life we loved you dearly, in death we do the same.

It broke our hearts to lose you, you did not go alone

For part of us went with you, the day God called you home.

You left us peaceful memories, your love is still our guide;

And though we can not see you, you are always at our side.

Our family chain is broken and nothing seems the same,

But as God calls us one by one, the chain will link again.