My Dearest Zeal,

Last week, I met my first grandchild—you. Even as I write these words, I can hardly believe them. In my mind, I am still that dorky 22-year-old, uncertain about life’s direction, half-expecting my mother to call me to clean my room. But time has moved forward, and now, after five decades on this earth, I find myself standing at the threshold of a new chapter—one where I am not just a daughter, a mother, a wife, but now, a grandmother.

Life teaches its lessons swiftly and often without mercy, but my greatest hope—my deepest prayer—is that you will live a life that honors one of the rare men I have known who embodied faith, goodness, wisdom, and love.

Zeal, your great-grandfather was the closest thing to perfection I have ever seen in a man. Like you, he was the oldest son, and had he lived to see the year of your birth, he would have been 100 years old. He had two younger brothers, and as the eldest, he stepped into the role of protector and provider early in life. His childhood was not without hardship—he worked tirelessly on the family farm, and his father struggled with alcoholism. Yet, despite these challenges, my grandpa Clarence never allowed bitterness to take root in his heart.

I had the privilege of growing up in his home, living under his roof for most of my childhood. And my precious grandson, my wish for you is to be like him. He was a tall, strong, and formidable man, with hands that bore the strength of a lifetime of labor. Even into his eighties, he lifted weights with ease. He was a boxer, a trainer of Arabian horses—majestic, intelligent creatures that demand both careful discipline and trust. My grandfather had a rare gift with them; he was gentle enough to earn their confidence yet firm enough to command respect.

I never once saw him shed a tear, and the only time I ever witnessed true sorrow in his eyes was the day one of his beloved Arabians was lost in an accident. He was a man of deep restraint—never raising his voice in anger toward my grandmother, me, or any woman I knew. The only time he would engage in “spirited debate” was when discussing scripture, and if you were mistaken, he would correct you—not with harshness, but with patience, kindness, and love.

He was not a man of many words, but his love was always evident in his actions. He was generous beyond measure, witty in a quiet, dry way, and unwavering in his morals and ethics. He acknowledge his own shortcomings, but he never kept of records of wrongdoing of others. He was, simply put, everything a good man should be.

As you grow, I want you to learn from your incredible parents who will guide and nurture you, but I also want you to know about the great men in our family who came before you. The truth is, there have not been many. Our lineage carries a history of pain—of anger, of addiction, of wounds passed down through generations. But you, my sweet Zeal, you are called to rise above that. God has placed you here for a purpose, and while life will not always be perfect, you will achieve far more if you learn to forgive, to lead with a servant’s heart, and to walk in faith.

That is what your great-grandfather did. He was one of a kind. And so are you.

When you were born and raised your tiny fists like a warrior, my heart skipped a beat. It reminded me of my grandfather. You were born to be a fighter—not in the way the world often defines it, but in the way that matters most. Fight for what is right. Fight for what is honorable. And most importantly, fight for what is just in the eyes of God. If you do, your battles will always lead to victory.

I love you with all my heart,
Grannie Annie