I was not raised in the church. My parents were not Christians…well, not in the “real” sense of the word. We were what you would call “CEO Christians”. We went to church on Christmas, Easter and maybe one other time during the year. When I was a freshman in high school I had a friend invite me to go to church with her and her family. I instantly loved it. I had a group of friends to hang out with and several good Christian women mentors. On March 7, 1990 I decided to give my life to Christ. I was on fire for God…maybe too much so if that is possible. I was so aggressive with my new found faith that I actually turned off my parents. I tried so hard to get them to go to church with me, but they refused time and time again. My dad said he didn’t want to give up his day of sleeping in to go to church. They did, however allow me to take my sister with me. She was ten years younger than me and I had her with me every Wednesday, Sunday morning and Sunday evening. She enjoyed it as well.
Finally, after I had turned fifteen and my sister was five, my dad suffered two great losses that rocked his world. First, our neighbor’s five year old daughter was killed when her wind pipe was crushed by a clothes rack that fell on her. Then, a guy that my dad worked with had a fifteen year old daughter who was killed by a drunk driver. My dad came to me with tears in his eyes (I had never seen him cry) and asked if he could go to church with me the next Sunday. He was brought to his knees because he had witnessed a five year old girl and a fifteen year old girl die within weeks of each other. His daughters were five and fifteen. He realized then just how fragile life can be. He and my step-mother started attending church and within a few months, they had accepted Christ and were baptized in our backyard pool. I was so glad that I had continued to sow that seed…because lucky for me, I got to see the harvest! ”Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.” Galations 6:9
