I have been involved in church life my entire life. Have you ever stopped and given thought to the number of people who have sowed the seeds of faith into your life?
I remember Lois Steelman and Lucille Shahan sitting on the floor in a circle with my fellow pre-schooolers as they told us stories about Jesus. Whether we were playing with puzzles, drawing pictures with crayons or just playing with the toys, they always made sure that we knew how much Jesus loved us. Oh how they loved Jesus.
I remember a little old lady by the name of Molly Hargrove. She always wore her gray hair tightly up in a bun. She would gather all of us children around the piano and she would plunk those old keys and sing. I remember that she didn't play very well..., but it never stopped her. Jesus loves me, Jesus loves the little children, The B-i-b-l-e, and countless more. Oh how she loved Jesus.
I remember Mrs. Crossman leading me through a new believers class after I gave my heart to Jesus. She made sure that I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Jesus was now my Savior and that Heaven would be my home. I remember how gently she shared from the scriptures. It was as if she was sharing her most treasured secret and she didn't want me to miss a word. She loved to tell boys and girls how they could be saved. Oh how she loved Jesus.
I remember Molly Smith sitting in the middle of a half moon table surrounded by little girls sitting in those itty-bitty chairs. We would read our weekly story from the Bible and she would help us to understand what the words really meant. Oh how she loved Jesus.
The last time I was home visiting, my Dad and Mom drug me to the cemetery to put out flowers. While they tended to the graves of several family members, I began to stroll through the cemetery, looking at the names. I came upon the graves of both Lois Steelman and Lucille Shahan.
I bent down and began to clear away the twigs and debris that had been blown there by the wind. I went and got some furniture polish and a rag from the van and I began to clean the headstones. I remember their sweet faces about how those dear Saints had invested their lives in a little girl only five years of age. Tears welled up in my eyes as I stopped and thanked God for their faithfulness.
Seeds of faith planted in fertile soil. A young seedling watered, nurtured and pruned. A tree now bearing fruit of its own.