Two Hands to Heaven: The Faith That Carried My Grandmother—and Changed Me
The Bible gives a clear and timeless definition of faith in Hebrews 11:1 (KJV):
“Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.”
Simply put, faith is complete confidence and trust in God—even when you cannot see or fully understand how things will work out. It’s the assurance that what God has promised will come to pass, even if there’s no physical proof yet.
Throughout Scripture, faith is portrayed not just as belief, but as belief in action. For example:
Abraham demonstrated faith by leaving his home and trusting God’s promise of a new land (Genesis 12).
Noah showed faith by building the ark before rain had ever fallen (Hebrews 11:7).
Biblically speaking, faith is both an inward assurance in God’s truth and an outward expression of that trust—through obedience, patience, and perseverance.
For as long as I can remember, my grandmother has been a woman of faith.
My dad, her oldest son, often tells the story of how he and my aunt (his younger sister) were sick with meningitis as children and how later in his adulthood my grandfather was coded at the hospital. These stories always stuck with me. I’ve included a short clip so you can hear him tell them in his own words:
She had faith that the Lord would hear and answer her prayers to save her children—and He did.
She had faith that the Lord would hear and answer her prayers to save her husband—and He did.
When my brother and I were younger, we both struggled with major, undiagnosed health challenges. I remember us getting sick in middle school, high school, college, and beyond. My parents spent countless days coming up to the school just to trail behind ambulances and be with us in the hospital. My grandparents were never far behind and always in the know. Without fail, whenever I saw my grandmother, she was either calling on the name of Jesus to heal her grandchildren or catching us up over the phone about how she’d been praying for us. Many prayers and years later, at 34 and 33 years old, my brother and I are as happy and healthy as can be.
She had faith that the Lord would hear her prayers and answer them for her grandchildren—and He did.
I share these stories to demonstrate that the Lord blessed my grandmother for her inward assurance in His truth and her outward expression of that trust.
My grandmother’s faith was more than something she talked about—it was something she lived. Watching her trust God so completely showed me what it truly means to walk by faith.
There comes a time in all our lives when God invites us to trust Him for ourselves. That invitation can take many forms—some gentle, some life-altering—but the purpose is always the same: to draw us closer to Him.
Personally, my story reflects both.
From the time we were babies, my parents and grandparents were instrumental in making sure that my siblings and I grew up in church and knew the Lord. We participated in choir, production activities, ministry work, and more—you name it, we did it! I knew Scripture, I knew songs—you couldn’t tell me I didn’t know the Lord!
But being in church and knowing about the Lord is one thing - having a personal relationship with Him that anchors your faith through every storm is something entirely different.
For a few years now, I’ve felt a desire to deepen my connection with God—to read and understand His Word, to apply His teachings, to be more like Him. I’ve wanted to walk in faith and be more Christ-like, but I was what the church would call “lukewarm.”
I wanted it, but I didn’t want it badly enough to be steadfast in my pursuit. I guess you could say this was my “gentle tug.” But I wasn’t answering the call.
And one thing about God—if you don’t want to do things the easy way, He’ll make you do it the hard way. Either way, it’s going to be His way.
And that’s what led me to the life-altering moment where God allowed me to be broken, so He could begin to rebuild me.
Mid-August of this year, my grandma mentioned she wasn’t feeling well. My uncle took her to the emergency room where routine tests later revealed spots in her body.
On August 18th, she was admitted for further testing.
The next day, doctors told us she had advanced stage 4 cancer in four major organs, with a life expectancy of 3–6 months. Nothing could have prepared us for that. Nothing.
She would go on to continue care at the hospital for the next 2 weeks.
Her memory wasn’t as sharp anymore, and she would often ask, “Morgan, what are we doing here?”
By “here,” she meant the hospital.
I’d smile and say, “Well, you haven’t been feeling too well, and we just want to make sure everything’s okay.”
She’d nod and reply, “Okay—well, I feel fine. I’m just a little weak, but I’M GONNA GET UP AND WALK OUT OF HERE!”
She meant it, too.
Before her diagnosis, none of us had any idea how sick my grandma really was. She had always been a healthy, vibrant woman. She and my papa lived independently in their home in Houston, relying on close family only for small necessities.
At 91 and 93, that was truly remarkable.
During her hospital stay, my family and I stayed by her side around the clock. We kept her spirits high—telling stories, cracking jokes, praying, and breaking bread together.
Each day, she grew physically weaker, but her faith in God’s power to heal her never wavered.
Eventually, her body could barely manage the short move from her hospital bed to her recliner. Still, she prayed and declared that she was going to get up out of that bed and walk out of that hospital.
After 2 weeks, she was placed on hospice and transported by ambulance back to the home she shared with my papa.
That’s when things got really hard.
Each of us became caregivers. We were untrained and overwhelmed but determined to make sure my grandma was cared for.
I had already taken time off work to travel for my birthday, but once her diagnosis came, all plans for celebration stopped. My only focus was being there for her.
During that time, we listened to gospel music, kept each other company, and watched as she lifted her two hands to heaven, saying over and over, “Lord, hold my hand, don’t let me fall.”
She often asked us to pray over her, and every night before we left, she’d say, “Don’t stop praying.”
This went on day after day, without fail.
I watched her grow weaker with each passing day.
She slowly lost the ability to walk, stand, eat, or drink without help. I never imagined I’d see my grandma in such a state. She was helpless—but never hopeless.
When she couldn’t stand, she praised God.
When she couldn’t eat, she praised God.
When she was too weak to raise her hands, she lifted her wrists toward heaven and praised God.
When she couldn’t move, she cried out in prayer to praise God.
And when she could no longer speak, she moaned—and no one can convince me those moans weren’t her still asking God to hold her hand.
On September 16th, just twenty-eight days after her diagnosis—and only six days after my birthday—my grandmother passed away.
I watched her take her last breath, and for the next hour, I sat in silence, just staring at her.
I felt hollow. Not defeated. Not even sad. Just... empty.
Part of me was grateful that her suffering had ended. Another part of me was already aching with the weight of missing her. And yet another part was frozen in disbelief—trying to make sense of what I had just witnessed.
How could someone so sick, so frail, so close to the end still praise God and believe she would be healed—even if it wasn’t in His will?
That is a type of faith I had never seen in person, until then. And I didn’t understand it.
As I reflected in the days following her passing, the answer became clear: my grandmother’s faith was tried and true.
Only a fool would ignore what’s already been proven - and my grandma wasn’t a fool!
Throughout her lifetime—much like Abraham and Noah - her faith was also portrayed not just as belief, but as belief in action.
When she didn’t know if her children would survive meningitis, she prayed and had faith—and they’re still here.
When she didn’t know if my brother and I would live healthy lives after years of illness, she prayed and had faith—and we’re still here.
When they coded my grandfather in the hospital and told her he wouldn’t make it through the night, she prayed and had faith—and he’s still here.
When she didn’t know if God would heal her from cancer and allow her to walk again, she prayed and had faith—and although she’s no longer here with us, God honored her final request. She now sits with Him, holding His hand.
Through these acts and many more, she had built a mental database of prayers lifted and ANSWERED over 91 years.
That’s an overwhelming amount of evidence that God had heard her, time after time!
I thought to myself, “No wonder she had unshakable faith!”
And in that same moment, I realized—I wanted that.
I want something deep and meaningful. Not just a surface-level belief, but a faith that stands firm in the face of uncertainty. A faith that doesn’t waver when prayers seem unanswered, when healing doesn’t come the way we expect, or when life feels heavy. I want a faith that moves with conviction, that trusts God’s timing, and that surrenders even when the outcome is unclear.
The kind of faith that speaks louder through action than words.
In the grand scheme of things, witnessing my grandmother’s unwavering faith—both throughout our time together on this earth and in her final days—deeply impacted how I wanted to trust God. It made me realize that if I truly wanted to walk through life with the kind of faith she had, I would need to make some changes in how I approached my desires and expectations of God’s will - and being lukewarm in my faith cut it.
Her life - and her passing- taught me that we may never fully understand God’s plan. But we can choose to know Him, trust Him, and apply our faith through obedience, patience, perseverance, prayer, and worship. And in doing so, we can rest in the promise that all things work together for good—even when the outcome isn’t what we hoped for.
Since her passing, I’ve been sitting with the Lord, asking Him to reveal and transform the parts of me that don’t align with His will. I’ve been intentionally seeking new ways to build trust and deepen my faith. And I’ve been consciously putting my best foot forward in believing that His will be done.
Now, I’d be remiss if I said walking by faith is easy—but it is possible. And I believe that with time, it will become more natural. My prayer is that I will grow into the kind of unshakable faith my grandmother carried so gracefully, and that so many people who knew her admired.
In this way, I want to be just like her.
It hurts my heart knowing that she won’t be here to guide me with advice in my walk going forward, but I trust in the many other powerhouses of faith in my family to pour into my cup.
If my grandma were still here today, I’d thank her for the final lesson she gave me. But since she’s gone, I thank her—and the Lord—in prayer.
I thank her for being obedient in praying without ceasing.
And with my two hands to heaven, I thank God for allowing me to walk beside her in her final days, so I could receive the desire to know Him more deeply and trust Him more fully.
The faith that carried her through each and every storm has truly changed me.
I’m forever grateful.