About ten years ago I was talking with my husband’s best friend, who told me of growing up in a children’s home in the Midwest. When he mentioned the name of the home, something clicked.
When I was a little girl, our little country church of 250 people would send donations to the very home where he was living. I chipped in what I could, of course. How incredible that the nickels, dimes and quarters from my childhood were supporting a little boy who would grow up to be a great encouragement and best friend to the man I happily live life with today.
We sent those donations because of the influence of one lady, Mae, a woman in our congregation who lived at and cared so much for the kids at the home. I had no idea of why, until I mentioned her name to my husband’s friend. He knew Mae, and knew her well. Mae was a House Mom at the home when he was living there and she had a tremendous influence on his life. She led him to Christ when he was just 10-years-old.
When Mae passed away at the age of 102, we gathered for her funeral and I found out something else I didn’t expect. The very first Sunday school teacher my Dad ever had was—you guessed it—Mae.
It’s crazy how small the world is when God is involved in the little, intricate details.
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