The Mahans live in a quiet corner of the Oak Ridge Neighborhood. Their home's craftsmanship is unmistakable: beautiful red brick, a lush garden where they grow blackberries for pies and find tranquility when needed, and a cornerstone that serves as a ceremonial mark. Anderson Mahan, Sr. designed, built, and molded the home with his bare hands—a dwelling to keep the elements out and love in.

Over the years, they’ve opened it to more than 30 foster children—all while parenting twelve of their offspring, including eleven from Anderson’s previous relationships.

Anderson is—the Mahans are—builders.

In 48 years of marriage (and counting), they’ve built a beautiful life on the pillars of trust, love of community, family and shared destiny. 

Ten years into their marriage, in 1986, Bernice felt a calling to open a ministry—another example, among many, of divine providence working in their lives. The ministry uniquely positions them to help others. They’ve spent nearly two lifetimes committed to touching as many lives as possible.

People who call “family” any and everyone in need within their reach are who they are.

But even the most charitable souls need help sometimes.

In 2002, when Anderson suffered a stroke that paralyzed him on one side and bound him to a wheelchair, Bernice struggled to manage her household, care for her husband, and serve the community they cherish. Feeling financially, spiritually and physically broken while pulled in so many directions, Bernice turned to the local Meals on Wheels. Over the last twenty-three years, the organization has been a transformative force in their lives. 

The nutritious meals feed their once-tired souls, nourish Anderson to manage his health challenges, and give Bernice the strength to continue supporting the community. Even if there aren’t enough minutes in a week (or hours in their remaining days) to do it all, that won’t stop them from trying while they can.

In the 1970s, Anderson, a youthful, successful contractor, courted Bernice, a 5’4” brown-eyed, brown-skinned, sandy-haired teacher.

Anderson was ready for love again, but the timing had to be right. 

His generation is more old-fashioned and patient in letting love blossom. Anderson is also a man of deep faith who moves slowly and intentionally, always guided by God’s will. 

On this occasion, God instructed him to wait two weeks before calling her, and when she picked up the phone, he knew. “God told me, ‘If she answers, she would be my wife,’” Anderson remembers. 

As he saw, their meeting was not by chance but by design. The Lord’s design.

“Divine intervention,” Bernice whispered as Anderson recounted the story.

Bernice Mahan grew up three houses down from their current home—seven miles west of downtown Birmingham, Alabama. 

Her home was full of love as a child: eight children and two parents.

Her mother taught Bernice and her seven siblings to play the piano and instilled in them the value of education.

“We all ended up as college graduates,” says Bernice proudly. “Lawyers, doctors—all that good stuff.” What will you do with your life? That was the “good stuff” in their family.

When her courtship began with Anderson, she returned to Oak Ridge soon after her mother’s passing, after 15 years away from home, to support her brothers and sisters still living in the neighborhood.

“I don’t drink, I don’t smoke, I don’t gamble, and I don’t run around,” Anderson told Bernice. “I’m looking for somebody to help me care for what I make.” 

In Anderson, she quickly recognized a kindred spirit—someone who wanted the same thing she did—to build something special and someone to hold her hand along the way.

In the early days of their relationship, Anderson told Bernice the first thing she needed in her new home was a washer and dryer. Anderson offered to pay for it and have them shipped to her house, no strings attached.

“If I never see you again, [the washer and dryer] will be a blessing from me to you,” Anderson recalls telling her.

Theirs is a practical, old-school-kinda romance.

Bernice’s parents did their best to protect their young, black children from the worst horrors of the Civil Rights Movement. 

In the early ‘60s, Bernice was an undergraduate at Miles College, a private historically black institution in Fairfield, Alabama, just twelve miles south of Oak Ridge.

In those days, her mother never allowed her to march in downtown Birmingham, but Bernice knew about the racial tension tearing at the fabric of their community. She also vaguely remembers the scolding she received as a little girl for attempting to drink from a “white’s only” fountain in town without getting an explanation of why.

Perhaps it was her way of preventing her daughter from believing that anything other than what she dreamed of was possible in her life.

Still, as a promising college student, Bernice, never one to sit still, had to do something. That something was volunteering for a campus-wide voter registration drive.

Even then, she knew individuals had the power to create change collectively.

Today, as a more seasoned woman, Bernice, who’s visited the 16th Street church, where, in 1963, four little girls were brutally murdered, Selma, and the local Civil Rights Museum in her lifetime, reflect on that time in Birmingham’s history like she does anything, with compassion rooted in her faith.

“People are people, and God created this whole world. We have to love everybody.”

Anderson’s stroke changed everything. Bernice and Anderson spent their life helping others. Bernice, in particular, maintained a dizzying social and professional schedule. Then, it all became too much to manage alone.

“After he had that stroke, I was still pastoring a church, teaching school, and taking care of wife duties [as a caregiver],” Bernice remembers.  “It got to be overwhelming. I had to do it all. So, many things got undone, but I just couldn’t. I'm only human.”

Bernice reached out to everyone—anyone she thought could help them dig out of their circumstances.

 It was a matter of “survival.” 

Anderson retired years ago, leaving his career without a pension. His $500 a month in Social Security is far from enough to support his living and care costs. 

She can’t remember when or how, but eventually, the local Meals on Wheels, a service provided by the United Way of Central Alabama in downtown Birmingham, emerged as an option. 

It was another Godsend.

At the time, she didn’t know anyone using the program. But there it was—a gift. “I was glad to learn about Meals on Wheels,” Bernice says. “It has been a blessing to us.”

They still face challenges together, including helping Anderson recover from a terrible fall, but they’ve had each other at every turn. Anderson, now 94, spends most of his days in his motorized wheelchair. The once superhuman contractor now displays quiet strength and calming kindness and occasionally flashes a dynamic sense of humor.

“My mom told me, ‘no son of hers won’t know how to cook,’” Anderson says as we stroll through his garden.

“The garden is a place of retreat,” Bernice says. “That's the Garden of Gethsemane. “It's a quiet place, a place of relaxation, to like Jesus did, sit out and smell the green grass and trees.”

While Anderson’s cooking days are over, he and Bernice are grateful for the hearty meals they receive five days a week from Meals on Wheels. 

“It has really helped; when it's time to eat, we have something to eat, and they [make sure] to give us an extra box [of food] for the days they can’t deliver.”

Ever the caregivers, they’ve even introduced a local family they helped get off the streets and into a home in their neighborhood to the Meals on Wheels program. “Because God loves them, too,” Bernice says.

Despite it all, Bernice still hasn’t slowed down. However, she has empowered others to help continue her legacy, including hiring a new head minister and transitioning to senior minister and apostle. What is she, if not also a builder of future leaders?