My maternal grandmother went to be with her Lord a few months’ shy of her 91st birthday back in 1984. On
July 8th, she would have been 116 years old. I can imagine she and my grandfather, who preceded her in
death by 19 years, have been dancing a jig together in the presence of the Lord ever since. They were such
delightful people to have as my grandparents. My memory banks are filled to overflowing with tactile memories
of my years knowing them.
Following the death of her husband, Nana lived with my family for six years (from my 6th to 12th-grade years).
She was not given to talking over much nor was she the type to hug-one-to-pieces. Yet I remember well how
my heart was gladdened by knowing when I walked in the door from school, Nana would be there to give a
warm greeting and to ask me about my day. Nana took on the responsibility of keeping dishes washed and
dinners made. While my parents put in long, tiresome, 12-14 hour days as they were building up a fledgling
advertising company, Nana was our caretaker in their absence. I am certain my parents took great comfort
in knowing she was in our home during those years keeping watch over their two girls.
To my recollection, Nana never bossed us or acted like she was our mother. Nor do I recall her butting into
my parents’ lives. She led by example. She “walked the talk.” In retrospect, I can see how her gentle presence
in my family’s home was a stabilizing force. During some rocky years, her quiet steadfastness proved
time and time again to have a calming effect when the storms of life hit hard.
My earliest recollection of Anne Adele Taggart’s presence in my life came around the age of three, so I first
came to consciously be aware of her when she was in her early 60’s. She already had a large history by then:
she had gone through the loss of her oldest child (a son, aged 5) to spinal meningitis when she was eight
months pregnant with my mother. Following the birth of my mother, she was incapable of caring for her two
children and husband due to deep depression, so Nana’s mother and various other relatives faithfully tended
to my infant mother and her older sister for a full year. Nana nursed her husband back to health when he
suffered a nervous breakdown following the loss of his depression-era job when he returned from vacation (a
job which he was guaranteed would still be his upon his return). She weathered the strain of being separated
from her husband and oldest child for over a year when she and my mother moved to another town where she
had found employment (it was over a year before my grandfather found a job in the same town and the family
could be reunited). There were trials aplenty, but I do not remember witnessing Nana ever exhibiting bitterness
or voicing complaints about her life’s journey.
She embodied a woman whose faith in Jesus Christ sunk down deep into the rich and fertile soil of her heart
– a heart she had eventually opened entirely to Jesus Christ. I do not know where or when Nana’s Christian
roots began to sink deep. But I would venture to guess that out of her painful passages, she realized she
needed the Lord to be the center of her life: to steer her, to guide her, to strengthen her, to love her.
I remember her telling me that in the 49 years she and my grandfather had been married that they only had
two weeks in which they had their home to themselves. They took in the occasional boarder or would offer a
place to stay to a homeless person, especially during the depression era. Their gracious hospitality extended
into their so-called retirement years when they offered to my then recently-divorced aunt and her four children
to come live with them. They did – for well over a decade.
She was a rather quiet soul, but a determined one. She became the first director (a woman director, no less)
for Redding, California’s Welfare Assistance Office, which was established during the Depression years.
When her oldest daughter had a child born with Down Syndrome, she and my grandfather took it upon themselves
to organize a school for mentally-challenged children in their small town of Susanville in northern
California. She was a giver and a good listener … and people sensed she was one to be trusted.
My Nana left a great legacy for those of us who knew her. I believe that her impact is still being passed down
to others by those whose lives she touched. She knew her Lord and she knew Him well. She developed a profound,
personal relationship with her Savior … and it showed. She truly was a person who learned to “bloom
where she was planted” and to be a quiet, unobtrusive witness for her Lord. ~ Carol Hovland-Mitchell