“Just As I Am” by Bonnie Anderson

I had a really happy childhood. My parents were wonderful people—kind, loving, and steady. Both sides of my family were close-knit. Sundays were for gathering. We’d go visit my mom’s parents in Canada. They lived in one part of the house, and my uncle lived in the other. We’d eat together, talk, laugh—it was warm and familiar. My aunts were more like sisters than aunts, and children were always included in everything. We weren’t pushed outside or ignored. We sat around the table with everyone else, listening and learning from their stories and their laughter.

My grandmother on my dad’s side was extra special to me. She lived just down across the tracks, on Silver Street. I’d stop there on my way home from school for a cookie and a little visit. She had 37 grandchildren, and each one of us felt like we were her favorite. That says a lot about the kind of woman she was. She always had time, even when she was busy, and her words stuck with me—“If you can’t say something good, don’t say anything at all.” She taught us to look for the good in others, and that’s stayed with me all my life.

I remember once, as a young girl, I was invited to a school dance. Some of the churches in town frowned on dancing, and I was torn. I didn’t know what to think. So, I asked my grandmother. She looked at me and said, “There’s no sin in dancing. It’s what you bring to it.” That wisdom gave me peace—and freedom. She always pointed me toward goodness, never shame.

I went to a little group called LTL—Loyal Temperance Life—after school, run by a teacher from the Baptist church. Later, I attended youth group at the Methodist church. When I was 11, I went to the altar for the first time. That was at the Baptist church in Mars Hill, and I consider that my moment of beginning faith. I wasn’t baptized until I was in my 20s, in Blaine, where my first husband’s family went to church. That baptism took place outdoors, near the mountains, and I still have the photo. It was a powerful moment for me.

Later, when I had my children, we started going to the Methodist church, and that became our home. I helped teach Sunday School with Joanne, and that’s where my children grew up.

I married young—just 16—after finding out I was expecting. We had three children and were married for 26 years. It was not an easy marriage, and divorce was one of the hardest decisions I ever made. I carried guilt for a long time, especially since no one in my family had ever gone through divorce. But I came to understand that God gives second chances—and I believe He gave me one.

Meeting Andy was a turning point. We met through our daughters, who became friends. After my divorce, Andy and I began to spend time together—just dinner now and then at first. What touched me most was how he always put the children first. That was something I wasn’t used to, and it reminded me of my father, who was soft-spoken and deeply devoted to his family. I saw in Andy a goodness that made me feel safe and seen.

We’ve been together for over 37 years now. In all those years, we’ve leaned on faith and on each other. We don’t keep secrets. We share everything—emotions, money, time. When things get tense, we usually go out for a cup of coffee, talk it through, and give each other some grace. It’s not always easy, but it's always worth it. Marriage takes time, communication, and a willingness to grow.

One of the hardest moments of my life was losing my brother. He was just 25, killed in a car accident. I was here in Maine, and he was in Connecticut, so I had to handle the arrangements. I went straight to church and prayed. That’s where I’ve always gone for strength. My faith has carried me through every valley—from divorce to cancer to loss.

I was also diagnosed with cancer, and it was another defining chapter in my life. But through it all, I’ve always trusted that if God still has something for me to do, He’ll keep me here. And if not, I’ll be ready to go home. That kind of trust keeps me steady.

One of the proudest moments of my life was being in the delivery room for the birth of my grandson, Jameson. I got to cut the cord and watch him take his first breath. I looked at the doctor and said, “Your job is to keep me alive so I can see what this boy becomes.” He’s twelve now, and I’m still here—still watching, still cheering him on.

My children have been a great joy to me. They’re good to Andy and me. My son just put in a new storm door for us last week. It’s usually the other way around, but they take such good care of us now. I’m proud of the people they’ve become.

Faith has always been at the center of our marriage and our home. Every morning, Andy and I start the day with devotionals and by listening to Joyce Meyer and a few other pastors. We also read a little book together called Mr. and Mrs.—it gives us scripture and wisdom for the day. Sometimes it speaks right to what we’re feeling. Funny how God works like that.

My favorite hymns are “Amazing Grace” and “Just As I Am.” I remember singing them during a Billy Graham crusade choir in Presque Isle. Carol and I joined the choir together, and we sang “Just As I Am” almost every night. That song still moves me.

Andy and I have also shared a heart for children. It’s something that’s just in us—passed down from our parents. My mom was always helping others. She once picked up two hitchhikers and brought them home for supper! That’s the kind of home I grew up in. And Andy’s parents were the same way.

We’ve taken in children through foster care and informally, too. One girl, Melissa, was a friend of our daughter Katie. She stayed with us all through high school and even came to church with us. We took in a few others—some with special needs, some from hard backgrounds. It wasn’t always easy, but it was worth it. I remember praying one Sunday, asking God for direction, and the next Sunday, Melissa was sitting with us in church. That’s how clearly He leads sometimes.

Now, we see that same compassion in our children. My son has adopted two girls, and my daughter Jenny adopted a little girl, too. Watching them carry on that legacy is one of the greatest blessings of my life.

My hope for my children and grandchildren is simple—I want them to be happy, to know God, and to know that they are deeply loved. When they come home, they say this place feels like home, like peace. That means everything to me.

If I could leave them with one life lesson, it would be this: Life is not about having things. It’s about contentment, love, and creating a place where people feel welcome. I don’t need much to be happy. I just want to love well and be there when someone needs me.

I hope people remember me as someone who loved her family, who cared deeply, and who tried to help when she could. That’s enough for me. I don’t need recognition—just the joy of knowing I made someone feel at home, or helped them through a hard time.

And as for friends—Nancy, Kathy, and I have been close for 75 years. We met in kindergarten, and we’re still together today. That’s rare and precious. We’ve been through life side by side—losses, joys, parenting, aging. We’ve always understood each other without needing many words.

In the end, I’m just grateful—for my family, my friends, my faith, and the simple goodness of daily life. I don’t take any of it for granted. I try to live with love, give with grace, and trust God with whatever comes next.