COGIC Mother says Old Mothers Made Me Stay With My Husband!

The Women Who Taught Her to Fight for Her Faith

Long before she stood before a congregation and raised her voice in praise, she learned what faith looked like from a generation of women who expected more than words.

She remembers growing up at Greater Zion Temple at a time when there were very few young people around her. Instead, she found herself surrounded by older women—Mother McCoy, Mother Allen, and Mother Granger among them—women she describes as living examples of the faith they preached.

Their lessons were not always easy to accept.

They were demanding, direct, and completely unafraid to correct her. They did not simply tell younger women how they believed they should live; they demonstrated it through their own lives. Their Christianity was something practiced through sacrifice, discipline, service, and endurance.

At times, she hated their instruction.

One of the hardest lessons involved her marriage. She recalled being told to remain with her husband even during difficult circumstances. On one occasion, after he had been away for six weeks, he returned home at 2 a.m. and asked her to cook.

She went to one of those older women expecting perhaps sympathy or permission to refuse.

Instead, the answer was blunt: cook.

Years later, she could laugh at how difficult that teaching had been for her younger self. But she also recognized the influence those women had on the person she eventually became.

They believed that God could keep someone who genuinely wanted to be kept.

That message stayed with her.

She also remembers how fearless these women were when it came to what they considered appropriate behavior. If a young woman arrived wearing a dress they thought was too revealing, they did not politely suggest adjusting it. They pulled it down themselves. If someone wore lipstick they considered inappropriate, they might simply wipe it away.

To modern ears, those stories sound almost unbelievable.

But for her, they represent a particular generation of church mothers—women who saw themselves as guardians of the younger generation. They were not interested in being popular. They believed they were responsible for teaching what they had learned.

And sometimes their greatest lessons came through patience.

Mother Granger, a longtime district missionary, once became the target of the young woman’s frustration. Angry and determined to say something hurtful, she criticized Mother Granger for giving money despite supposedly not having enough herself.

She called her poor and foolish.

Mother Granger did not argue.

She simply replied, “That’s all right. Keep living.”

And she did.

But life eventually transformed the insult into something resembling a prophecy.

The young woman who once mocked someone for giving money eventually found herself giving too. The difference was that she no longer saw generosity as foolishness. She saw it as gratitude.

That transformation became central to her testimony.

She does not describe herself as someone who arrived at faith because she had always been perfect. Quite the opposite. She openly remembers her sins, struggles, and mistakes.

She remembers being guilty.

She remembers standing in courts and knowing that she was guilty.

And yet, in her understanding of Christianity, that guilt did not become the final word.

Grace did.

Her testimony rests on the belief that Jesus died for her, redeemed her, and gave her another chance. That realization fuels the intensity of her praise. She does not believe she owes God casual appreciation. She believes she owes Him everything.

That is why sitting quietly feels impossible.

When she sees people remaining silent while she is celebrating, she cannot understand it. Her relationship with God has become too personal to be restrained by convention.

She compares it to the way she behaves at sporting events.

When her granddaughter, a coach associated with Texas Tech women’s basketball, is winning, she cheers loudly. She does not worry about whether anyone thinks she is making too much noise.

So why would she become quiet when praising God?

For her, the answer is obvious.

The same voice that celebrates victory in a basketball arena can celebrate what she considers God’s goodness inside a church.

Her enthusiasm eventually pushes beyond ordinary preaching and becomes something closer to a celebration.

She describes it as a “Holy Ghost party.”

The phrase captures the heart of her message. She does not want faith to be treated as a lifeless obligation. She wants believers to experience fellowship, joy, and spiritual connection with one another.

When she gathers with other women who share her faith, she sees something powerful happening. One person carries the Holy Ghost; another carries the Holy Ghost; together, they create a community united by a shared purpose.

Her excitement is infectious because it is rooted in something intensely personal.

She talks about praise almost as though it were an addiction.

Not an addiction that destroys, but one she believes gives her life meaning.

She says she needs to praise God every day, even every hour. The repetition is deliberate. She is describing a habit that has become inseparable from her identity.

For her, praise is not reserved for moments when everything is going well.

It is a response to everything she has survived.

The struggles matter because without them, the testimony would be incomplete. She knows what it means to remember sins committed, consequences faced, and moments when giving up seemed easier.

That history makes grace feel tangible.

She does not stand before the congregation pretending she earned redemption through perfection. She stands there believing the opposite: that redemption came precisely because she was imperfect.

That realization produces an almost defiant gratitude.

She insists that if she remains silent, something else will eventually cry out in her place. She refuses to let that happen.

The imagery reflects a familiar biblical idea—the warning that if people refuse to praise, even the stones could cry out.

She chooses to make sure the stones never get the opportunity.

Her voice becomes her testimony.

Her shouting becomes thanksgiving.

Her memories become evidence of survival.

And the older women who once corrected her become part of the invisible crowd standing behind her—the “great cloud of witnesses” she associates with Hebrews.

Their influence never disappeared.

Mother McCoy, Mother Allen, Mother Granger, and the others helped shape a faith that could survive embarrassment, frustration, hardship, and personal failure. Their methods may have been severe, but their commitment left a permanent impression.

Now, years later, she carries their lessons differently.

The young woman who once became angry with Mother Granger eventually understood what the older woman had been trying to teach her.

Sometimes wisdom does not sound comforting when it first arrives.

Sometimes it sounds like correction.

Sometimes it sounds like “keep living.”

And sometimes the meaning only becomes clear after years have passed.

That may be the most striking part of her testimony.

She is not celebrating because she believes life has been easy. She is celebrating because she knows it has not been.

Her praise comes from memory.

She remembers who she was, what she survived, and the people who refused to let her surrender.

And now, when the music begins and the congregation responds, she does not merely participate in the celebration.

She becomes part of it.

For her, faith is not meant to be quiet, distant, or hidden behind carefully chosen words.

It is supposed to live.

It is supposed to move.

And sometimes, it is supposed to shout.