It was a late afternoon on a warm, sunny day in early June when I first met her many years ago. I was a thirteen year old boy at the time, out pushing the family lawn mower from house to house, trying to earn a little spending money.  

I had full intentions of passing right by her house. After all, what about all of the stories that I had heard about her from the older kids on the street? She was known in the neighborhood as the “crazy lady” and I had often heard people tell stories of her odd, sometimes bizarre behavior. Yet these stories sounded quite far-fetched and I had never actually witnessed any of these strange occurrences. In fact, I had never seen her in person. She lived a reclusive life and rarely went out of the house.

I pushed the mower up to her neighbor’s house and asked if they needed someone to mow their lawn. I was told that they could manage on their own, but Sophia next door was desperately looking for someone to mow her lawn. I was asked to please go over and talk with her. “You’d be helping her out tremendously”, they said. 

There was no question that Sophia’s lawn needed care. The grass was almost a foot high and dead tree branch cluttered much of the yard. It seemed an almost overwhelming task to a thirteen year old boy. Additionally, I had a fear of this woman based on local gossip. It would have been easy to turn away. But an inward compelling force drove me down the sidewalk, up the steps, and to the front door.

I only had to knock once, for her neighbor had phoned to tell her that I was on my way over. Sophia explained that she had been able to find anyone to take care of her lawn and she was terribly worried that the city inspector would fine her for lawn negligence. She couldn’t pay much, she emphasized apologetically, but she would be very grateful if I could help her out. After many hours of mowing and raking, I left with a few dollars in my pocket and the promise of a job all summer long. Little did I know then that this was the beginning of a fourteen year friendship.

As I got to know her more, I began to learn that Sophia had a deep faith in God. She was responsible for getting me to attend church regularly. Although she no longer attended church services herself, she would often quiz me on the sermons I had heard or the church events I had attended. She bought me my first Bible as a gift one Christmas, and in many ways filled the void of spiritual leadership in my life. I’ll never forget our times of prayer together: Sophia would lean forward, place her elbows on the table, intertwine the fingers of her work-worn leathery hands together, and with a quiet reverent voice she would begin—“Dear God, our Heavenly Father…” After prayer, we often remained silent and our eyes did not meet for several moments; each of us having been humbled before God. 

    Sophia was nothing as far as the world was concerned. She had no wealth, no family, her behavior was eccentric, and she lived as a hermit. Yet she gave me the most wonderful gift by sharing her faith in Christ and influencing me to begin my own Christian journey. How often do we fail to answer God’s call with a litany of excuses concerning our inadequacy? 2 Corinthians 12:9 states “but he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.’” May we never hesitate to answer God’s call!

I wasn’t there for Sophia’s funeral; I was in Europe at the time. I can’t remember exactly how they said she died, but given her age, it was no surprise. My brother reported back to me that there were no calling hours, no flowers, no church service--just a graveside ceremony with a scant handful of people present. I visit her unmarked grave once a year, and I remember and give thanks—thanks for this “nobody” who allowed herself to be a servant of Christ. Let it be so for all of us!