In ninth grade, I was a knucklehead. Even worse, I was a Christian school knucklehead (those are the worst kind). Six days a week, between that Christian school and the church that operated it, I was in the same building hearing the same Bible lessons, often from the same people. It was sometimes difficult to know where church ended and the school began. Church projects often became school projects, and students often became church volunteers, though not always voluntarily. And that’s how I met Ms. Omega Buckner on the last day of school before Christmas break in December 1990.

What was supposed to happen on the last day of classes before Christmas break was ...not much. Instead, our Bible teacher, who was also our pastor and principal, announced that our Bible class was being sent out to visit the elderly shut-ins of our church. The only thing we wanted to do less than academic work on the last day of classes before break was visit old people we had never met.

I was paired with my friend Brian, who shared my disdain for the assignment.

“I’ve got an idea,” Brian said. “We’ll go visit one person but say that we couldn’t find the other person’s house. That way, we’ll be done fast and can go to the mall and meet some girls.” So, that’s what we did.

The name we did not throw away was Omega Buckner. She lived down a windy, rural Virginia road in a small little apartment on the end of her grandson’s farmhouse. There we were: an 11th grader, a ninth grader, and an 89-year-old widow. We didn’t have much in common.

Just when we thought it couldn’t possibly get more awkward, Ms. Buckner suggested, “Let’s sing Christmas carols together.” We stumbled our way through Silent Night, and she decided one carol was enough.

“Well, Ms. Buckner,” Brian said, “we’d best be on our way.”

“Yes,” I lied, “we still have one more person to visit before heading back to school.”

“Can we pray together before you go?” she asked.

At that point in my life, I had heard thousands of prayers, but I had never heard anything like this. She spoke to God as if she knew Him, with a confidence and humility that only comes when you know you are being heard.

Two years later, in late November, I woke up one day thinking of Ms. Buckner. To this day, I have no idea why. All I knew was that I just had to visit her.

“Ms. Buckner,” I said to her once she answered the door, “you probably don’t remember me, but two years ago I came here with my friend, Brian.”

“John,” she smiled. “I prayed for you this morning.”

Omega Buckner prayed for me every day for the remainder of her life. I visited her often after that. To this day, I have no idea what all she has prayed me out of or into. The last time I saw her, we did not say goodbye. Instead, we said, “I’ll see you in heaven.”

Years later, I returned to that Christian high school as the graduation speaker. I told how, at age 14, I met an 89-year-old woman God used to change my life. When I said her name, I saw tears and smiles fill dozens of faces across the auditorium. I realized I wasn’t the only one with a Ms. Buckner story.

The new film Truth Rising describes the cultural upheaval that defines this civilizational moment. The question for us is, “How can we be the people of hope and renewal that God has called us to be in this moment?” When I think of that question, I think of Omega Buckner, who was faithful in the small place where God called her. I’m so grateful she was.

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