I remember sitting on her emerald and cream flowery sofa. She appeared frail with her coiffed white hair, arthritic hands, and five-foot frame. But as she spoke, I noticed something fierce gleaming from behind her gentle demeanor. This woman—widowed, aging, and often forgotten—possessed great faith.
Now as a married woman myself, I hold such women in high esteem. It’s difficult to be a widow. In Paul’s day, it was downright dangerous.