She was fourteen when her daddy died. The second to the eldest, she was plunged into an even harsher world than she had ever imagined. There were five sisters younger than she, the youngest still in diapers. The old tobacco farm her parents had bought just a few years before required attention to plant bed preparation and the constant care that her dad had orchestrated. She missed his warm and loving voice and his melodic violin, played each evening around the old fireplace. Torn from her presence but never from her memory, Grandpa Davis was the subject of warm recollections at my mother’s feet. Never was there heard from her lips a word of despair or anger over the loss of her beloved father. Her gift to us was voluminous expressions of gratitude and love for one that helped shape her life with care and compassion. Through her loss, she learned to keep and give what was most important! “And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love” (1 Corinthians 13:13 NIV).