When I was growing up in Eastern North Carolina, I used to love to sit in my grandmama’s kitchen and listen to her sing as she made dinner. Whenever she was done cooking, she’d give me a plate to eat. Then she and some of the other sisters from the church would make up some to-go plates and, with their aprons still on, head out the door to visit the sick and shut-in. “We going to hope somebody,” Grandmama would say.
For years, I thought Grandmama’s grammar was bad. I studied my lessons in English class and knew that hope wasn’t a verb. I didn’t dare correct Grandmama, but I knew better than to say I was going to hope somebody.
Years later, after I’d gone to graduate school and read the great theologians, I woke up one morning and couldn’t move. My doctors told me I’d never walk again. There was nothing they could do to help me. (Patheos)