I do not remember her name. For some reason I think it might be Vicky, so that is what I will call her.
Her name may not have lodged itself in the corners of my memories but her love for Christ did. She was a college student at Florida Southern College. My parents hired her to babysit us during the night hours while they worked.
I was thirteen years old. And while my parents felt it was fine to leave me in charge of my sister and brother (11 and 8) during the day hours they felt we needed a sitter during the night hours. Truthfully, we needed someone during the day hours too. But that is another story.
She was kind. Caring. Loving. Since my parents worked every Sunday she often took us to church with her on campus. Honestly I don’t remember much about what was spoken, but I do remember the music.
I remember hands raised. Joy filled voices sing to a God I didn’t know.
Vicky often brought her friends over when see watched us. They talked a lot about God. They would tell me He was my Father in heaven. I would tell them I didn’t need a father in Heaven. I needed him here on earth with me.
They would share of God’s great love for me. I didn’t believe them. I remember a particular conversation where Vicky was explaining my need for God. Because I was a sinner. But God loved me and sent His Son for me. I don’t remember her exact words, but I do remember my reaction.
I said rather boldly with anger in my voice, “I don’t need God! And you can stop talking about Him!”
Vicky stopped talking about Him so much. But she was still kind and loving toward me. Unfortunately I wasn’t so kind. I began making life pretty miserable for her to the point she quit.
I wouldn’t accept Christ as my Savior until several years later. I am sure she felt she failed making an impact on my life in anyway. But even in my anger during that time God used her in my life to plant seed of possible hope that maybe there was someone out there who loved me.
Maybe, just maybe, God was loving and kind and she tried to tell me.
I wish I could tell her that I now understand. That I know Jesus. I wish I could tell her how she impacted my life in a way that would not be understood until years later.