My grandma, God bless her, is 89 years old, and lives alone in the same house my dad and my aunt were born and raised in McKeesport, Pa. Her husband and my late grandfather died 10 years ago tomorrow.

She's lived by herself for 10 years now and plans to live there until the day she passes away. My grandma has terrible arthritis in her knees, which makes getting up from her Lay-Z-Boy, balancing herself on two canes and walking to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee -- something so routine -- a struggle we all take for granted.

She loves it when we all come over on a Sunday afternoon, order take-out from her favorite Italian restaurant, and watch whichever golf tournament is on that weekend. I know she especially enjoyed sitting on her back porch this past summer, watching my brother and I give the old garage in her backyard a new coat of white paint with green trim.

When it was time for lunch on those painting days, she'd always have a big spread of macaroni and cheese, baked beans, hot dogs, corn and Sunny Delight. All of which she prepared on the trusty George Foreman grill and plug-in skillet while sitting at her kitchen table because she can't stand long enough to cook everything on the stove.

She goes through all that trouble to make us lunch, when we could take a five minute drive to Wendy's, simply because she loves us and wants us to be happy -- and full.

But on those days when her family isn't visiting or my aunt isn't dropping off groceries and fixing her hair, my grandma is all alone. It's just her and the television. But she would say something else is there with her, too; something more than any kind of entertainment or company could offer. And that's her faith.

My grandma is devoutly Catholic, and although she can no longer attend Mass on Sunday mornings at her local parish, she watches Mass on the Catholic cable channel EWTN. There are photos of Pope John Paul II throughout her home, and on the coffee table in front of her fireplace is a cross that was blessed by my family's parish priest.

She, along with my late grandpa, raised my dad and my aunt with the same devotion she carries with her today, and as a result, my parents have done the same with my brother, my sister and I. The Catholic faith is very much about tradition, and our grandma set the example of living that faith for us so we could pass it down to our kids.

Whenever we'd visit, you can be sure grandma would ask us if we went to church on Sunday. She'd also never hesitate to tell us that God is there every step of the way for us and that we should never let a day go by when we don't say, "Thank you, Jesus" for everything we have.

Now I know some people who may not practice a religion or believe in God probably find this a little hokey, but that's all right. Explaining your faith to someone who doesn't believe in what you believe in isn't supposed to be like teaching algebra. And it certainly shouldn't be a matter of imposing what you believe on someone who doesn't want it.

But I learned from my grandma that I should believe in God and follow the teachings of the Church not by, as the cliché goes, "wearing it on my sleeve," but by living it. And what that comes down to is treating everyone and anyone with respect, no matter who they are or what they may think of you.

So when I'm up here in Happy Valley, I make sure to go to Mass at the Pasquerilla Spritual Center on Sunday mornings to continue to learn and grow in the faith my grandma helped impart upon me.

And you know what, I know there are tons of other students, whether they be Catholic, Jewish, Muslim or whatever, that follow in the footsteps of their parents and grandparents and happily carry on their faith.

All I have to say to you is, don't stop believing.