Healing Hope Newsletter
January 2010
I’d known Betty* for more than a decade before I had the courage to talk to her about God. Outspoken and strong minded, she wouldn’t hesitate to slam the door on the conversation if she thought it was too personal. But I reasoned that since she had started attending a Bible class I taught and we were comfortable talking about everything else--why not her faith?
Extremely responsible, she was adopted at birth by an older farm couple and worked hard, milking cows and driving the tractor. In an era when adoption was an anomaly, she felt different from her schoolmates.
Betty married, had a couple of children and helped out in the family business. After her husband’s death, she continued the lifestyle of a hard working farm woman transplanted to the suburbs. One summer day I knew God wanted me to ask her if she’d ever invited Jesus to come into her life and be her personal Savior. In true Betty fashion, she answered me immediately.
“No.”
“Do you want to do that?”
“Yes. I do.”
Without hesitation, Betty bowed her head and invited Jesus to come into her life and be her Savior. For the next several months, we studied the Bible together weekly. When my family and I moved to another city a few years later, she and I kept in touch, visiting every few months. At the end of each visit, we stood in the center of her living room and I held her hands while we prayed. One of those times, however, I asked her first: “Betty, where will you go when you die?” Her face softened with childlike vulnerability. “I hope I’ll be good enough to go to heaven.”
I looked into her eyes. For Betty, so used to proving her worth by her work, the idea of grace was almost too good to be true. One more time, I reminded her that we were saved because God’s own Son paid for our sins. That God did that because He wanted to. That she was his daughter and He had a home for her in heaven. After we prayed, I’d walk down the steps, wondering if this would be the last time we’d complete our parting ritual.
One of those times was the last. I’d written her a note and in a couple of weeks, received a letter from her son. Betty was dead. I wept over the loss of my old friend.
After I dried my eyes, I smiled faintly. How shocked she must have been to find Jesus waiting with His arms outstretched. Not one of the angels handed her a work list. “Polish the heavenly candelabra and vacuum the clouds.” Instead she found herself the guest at a grand welcome home party given in her honor.
*Betty is a pseudonym
Visit my websites at:
http://www.marionduckworthministries.com
http://www.healinghopeonline.com
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