Back in my childhood I was the third child of four. That’s not a very impressive spot in a family! This picture was taken on Mother’s Day, 1950. I was 12 years old. My older brother, Richard, Dad, Mother, my sister, Lorraine, me and my younger brother, Billy. He’s Bill now. Dad, Mother and Lorraine are all gone now. I miss them soooooooo much!
But the story I want to tell here is of one day when I was about 12. We were living in Elk Run Heights, Waterloo, Iowa, in the chicken house apartment house I wrote about a few blogs ago.
One day I was home alone. I don’t remember why. There was a knock on the door and when I opened it there stood our Iowa Conference Superintendent of the Free Methodist Church. His name was Carl F. Olson. He asked for my dad. I explained I was sorry but no one was home, except me. He smiled at me and asked how I was. We had a very short conversation and then he asked if he could pray with me before he left!
Oh my goodness! He wanted to pray for me? Just me? No one had ever prayed for just me! I remember nodding my head. I couldn’t speak! Then he took a hold of my hand and prayed for me! Just me. Not my dad or mother, not my family, not my church. Just me! He thanked God for me! He prayed that I would always follow Jesus. He prayed for me as a young girl, as a student, as a friend and more.
I will never forget that day! I held my head a little bit higher! I felt a little more important after that day! I didn’t tell anyone for a long time because I was afraid I’d lose some of the specialness of that day and that prayer.
Dear Supt. Olson is gone now. He has been for a long time. Someday I’ll see him in heaven, because I’m going there too!