Arriving home from school and smelling like kid sweat and playground dust, I rushed to lay my papers on the table before the screen slammed shut, but failed. I slumped with disappointment that I didn’t win, but knew I’d try again tomorrow.
I hugged Mom, and she sized me up. I was sure she could tell I’d dilly-dallied on my way home, so before she could say anything, I blurted out, “I was at Mrs. Best’s house.”
I don’t recall who first introduced me to Mrs. Best more than 50 years ago. I do remember the poster board materials she used, some for telling Bible stories and others to help us get through the songs. The treats, and the goodie box full of prizes for us to choose from when we recited the scripture verse. Oh, fun! No wonder so many kids filled her living room.
I looked like I did every day after school, with my sagging pony tail and the mussed line of bangs above my eyebrows. My dress felt tight, twisted around my torso from twirling over the bar at recess, but Mom seemed to notice something else was different about her little girl.
Since I understood sometimes I chose to do wrong and couldn’t change my heart on my own, I found myself reaching out to God at Mrs. Best’s. I told Mom I’d prayed to ask Jesus into my heart.
“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come. All this is from God, who through Christ reconciled us to himself . . .” (2 Corinthians 5:17-18a ESV).
In my innocence I didn’t know how to relate the experience to her, other than that “I felt Jesus all over me.” I wonder how many others want to thank Mrs. Best for her efforts.
I’d sure like to.
by Kathy Sheldon Davis