From Edie: Eva Marie Everson share how simple invitation to church changed two lives forever. Discover how God can use your words of faith to leave an eternal legacy you may never see.
Dipping the Quill Deeper: What Words We Leave Behind
by Eva Marie Everson @EversonAuthor
I want to tell you a story.
I grew up in church. My parents did as well. So, hearing about Jesus from an early age is part of my story. Sunday school. Church. Wednesday nights and VBS. These were all a part of my childhood.
Back in the late 1950s/early 1960s, the wives and mothers in my little hometown joined “Circles.” These were faith-based social gatherings complete with finger sandwiches, sweet tea, coffee, cake, and devotions. My mother hosted many in our home and I, being such the precocious child, often regaled the ladies with recitations from the Bible.
Then I became a teenager. For a season—short, but a season—I decided to be angry with the world. Maybe even with God. Okay, not so much God. I still had holy fear. Reverence.
Then, at about the age of fifteen, the Jesus Revolution made its way to the east coast where it found my friends and me. For the remainder of high school and even for a period thereafter, “One Way” meetings and youth events were as much a part of my life as American History and English Lit. And Trig . . . but let’s not talk about that.
I got married in 1976. The union was doomed nearly from Day 1. I won’t get into the ins and outs of our thirteen long months, but I will say that I came out of the marriage angry and confused. Angry at God. Confused by all that had happened. Who needed it? Holy fear barely hung on.
In time, I met a wonderful man who I fell in love with. Not immediately. At first, we were only friends, but—in time—wow! He “had me at hello*.” We got married—me, the “I’m only a little mad at God” and him, the “I have nothing to say about God except that I’m not sure he exists” guy.
One day a few months into our marriage, a beautiful co-worker named Charlotte asked me if I’d ever heard of “revival.” Charlotte had one of the most intoxicating smiles on the planet. She could have asked me if I’d like a bowl of boiled okra (which I don’t like) and I would have smiled back and said, “Sure.”
I told Charlotte, a single mom in my age group, that I had gone to revival as a child. That I’d been active in my youth group as a teenager. But I also admitted, I hadn’t been to church in a while. She told me her church—a small congregation in town—was having revival starting that night and she’d like me to come with her.
Even today—after all these years—I’m not sure why, but I got excited about the possibility of a good old-fashioned revival service. I rushed home, told my husband I was going to revival and then, after I explained to him what revival was, he told me I was not going. I told him I was. He said, no, I was not. I said, yes, I am. (See, I didn’t have the whole “submissive” thing down yet. Praise God.)
He said, “You don’t need to drive that far at night by yourself.” (We lived “a ‘fer piece” out in the country.)
I said, “Then I guess you’ll have to drive me because I’m going.”
The poor chap gave in. He drove us to the service. When we got out of the car, he let me know how unhappy he was that I had “forced” him to church. We went in, saw Charlotte, and she introduced us to the pastor—Steve—as well as many others. Everyone was so warm. Welcoming. “Glad to have ya.”
I don’t remember anything about the service, but that night, I rededicated myself to Christ and my husband dedicated his life to Christ. I honestly believe our marriage would not have survived had we not because, in these forty-seven years, there were times when Christ alone “held all things together.”
When I look back on it, because Charlotte wasn’t timid about her faith and because she held a great desire that all should know Jesus as Lord and Savior, my husband and I (and our children) walk in faith.
Because I walk in faith, I write about my faith. I stand before people and talk about my faith. I counsel through faith. My faith is the center of my life and my husband’s life.
Today, July 13, 2026, Charlotte took her last breath on this earth and her first in the presence of Jesus. Dancing! Singing! I, on the other hand, have spent a good deal of the day in tears. Not because I’m sad. I’m not. Yay for Charlotte (although I do pray for her family and the grief I’m sure they’re feeling). My tears are of gratitude.
Thank you, Jesus, that someone cared enough so many years ago to say the words so I could write the words.
What will your words leave behind? Charlotte couldn’t begin to know that by a simple invitation she would ignite a spark. I cannot begin to know, and neither can you, just how brightly our words will glow or how far they will go. Only God knows.
Our job is to speak them. To write them. And, like Charlotte, to do so boldly.
*From the movie “Jerry Maguire”
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I want to be a Charlotte. Thanks, Eva Marie.
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