“Mindy*” was a single mother of three children, two of whom were twin boys. She worked two jobs and struggled to make ends meet. Her Sunday morning attendance was rare, yet she was always welcomed warmly and showered with love and acceptance. On the Sundays when she was present, all her children exhibited perfect “church manners.” Wednesday nights, though, were another story.
“Angie*,” the older sister, was sweet and easy-going, but those twins…. They scuffled with each other constantly, kicking, tripping each other, conking each other on the head with handbells, taping “I’m a nurd” (sic) signs on each other’s backs, and they usually ended up “throwing hands.” On one particular Wednesday night after the fellowship meal, I was called to break up a fight between the two boys and a hard, misdirected punch landed on my throat.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Lisa! I didn’t mean to… ‘Jeff,*’ this is your fault!” said the first.
“Now see what you’ve done? I’m gonna tell mom!” railed the other.
“Aughackssss,” I choked.
The other kids and two volunteers stood in stunned silence as I struggled to catch my breath, “It’s okay, you guys,” I whispered, trying more to convince myself that I was okay. “Let’s just calm down and get to our room.” Even as we made our way down the hall, the boys were elbowing, shoving, and trash-talking as they blamed each other for my injury.
Mindy called late that night to apologize for her sons’ behavior. She was embarrassed and assured me she was “taking steps” with them. The more she talked, the more she poured out her story, revealing some of the saddest details of her life. My heart broke for her. I listened and prayed for her simultaneously. She was a good person and a good mother, and I told her so. I tried to speak words of encouragement to her, but I doubt that she took any of it to heart.
The three children attended church less and less after that, in spite of multiple invitations to pick them up for Wednesday night activities, Sunday School, and other children’s events. Other children’s workers and I persisted in offering to include the family in various happenings, and, eventually, they became an integral part of our congregation. One of the deacons, a leading businessman in the community, heard the family’s plight and offered Mindy a full-time, well-paying job; another lady, a retired teacher, volunteered to tutor the boys in math; the church pianist began giving “Angie” piano lessons. The family began to thrive physically, socially, emotionally, and spiritually as never before.
I received a call yesterday from a friend in Owensboro telling me that Mindy had died suddenly. One of her sons, now a pastor, would be officiating the funeral. Her other son cannot attend as he is serving as a military chaplain somewhere in the middle east. Angie will be playing the keyboard at the service and accompanying her two daughters who will sing in honor of their grandmother.
While I am sorrowing at the sudden and untimely death of this precious soul, I am also praising God for the wondrous ways he chose to reveal his love through a compassionate and loving congregation. They were committed to their call to be the hands and heart of Christ to this family, not for what the family would bring to the church, but for the sake of ministering to “the least of these” in Jesus’ name.
I’d gladly “take a hit” again just to see the seeds of love sewn in the lives of these children take root, sprout, and bear fruit for the sake of the kingdom.
*Names have been changed.