“I know I won’t do as good a job as you, but I’ll try to step into your shoes as a soul winner.”

Those were the last words I spoke to Daddy before Jesus took him home. I had not planned that last one-way conversation. As I climbed into the bed beside him, placing my arm under his shoulders and embracing him one last time, the words just flowed. 

I thanked him for being such a godly father, for leaving the home place to Randy and me; I told him how glad I was to have had those last few years with him… and then that commitment just excepted my lips.

Hearing is said to be the last sense lost in the dying process. Daddy had been in a coma for three days. Did he hear me?

Within seconds, he raised up, lifted his arms upward, shouted triumphantly…and took his last breath.

More than once, I have imagined Daddy greeting Jesus in Heaven and saying something like, “Finally, I could come home because my daughter Ruth said she’d step into my shoes as a soul winner.”

“Try, Daddy. I said try,” I wanted to be able to clarify.

When I made that promise, I considered that I would put more effort into telling those I came in contact with on a daily basis about Jesus. I would witness more often. Maybe I could visit in nursing homes, reading the Bible and praying to those who were dying without Jesus. Daddy never passed up an opportunity to talk about his Savior. I would do the same.

On that cold, winter night, even in my most imaginative dreams, I could have never envisioned the doors God would open for me as I strived to fill Daddy’s soul-winning shoes. 

Becoming a nurse and working in long term care for seven years gave me ample opportunities to witness. While the majority of residents were Christian, many were lost and hurting. It was a special privilege to lead several patients to the Lord on their deathbed. 

I remember one man in particular, who was…well, sort of mean. It was obvious his life had not been a happy or fulfilling one. I went out of my way to be kind and show Him the love of Jesus. One day he asked me, “Why are you so nice to me?” Perfect opportunity. I explained that it was Jesus’ love in me that caused me to show him love. Then I told him about my last conversation with Daddy, and described Daddy’s glorious home going. A few days later he asked me to pray with him to receive salvation. A few more days passed. He died in his sleep. When I read the obituary in the newspaper, I was surprised to learn that his father had been a minister. An erring child…he once was lost, but God found him.

Soon after I retired from nursing, I approached the editor of our local newspaper about writing a weekly column to “inform and encourage” family caregivers. To tell you the truth, I was rather surprised when he accepted my offer. Thus began a six-year run of “Caregiver to Caregiver.” From the beginning, I wrote from a Christian perspective, because I am a Christian and that influences every area of my life. While not “preachy,” I did include scriptures to encourage and stories that made it clear that I was a believer. My daughter Amy, who was my proofreader, asked me one day after I had written one of my more “spiritual” columns, “How long do you think they’ll let you write columns like this?”

I remember my answer: “I don’t know, but I’ll continue writing what God puts on my heart.” To me, caregiving without God is akin to marriage without love. A burden. I believe Christianity is integral to caregiving and could not imagine trying to fulfill the goal of my column – to inform and encourage caregivers – without incorporating Christian principles.

The editor that I worked for the first five years never once complained about my decidedly Christian viewpoint. But when he left the paper and was replaced by a more liberal and less tolerant journalist, it took just a little more than a year for him to get his fill. The last column I submitted was “Plan, Prioritize and Pray” and he nixed it – and me – immediately. He accused me of being “too Christian.” I wore that accusation as a badge of honor. I believe Daddy would have been pleased.

During those six years when I wrote for a receptive audience, I was invited to speak for numerous groups about caregiving. Sharing from a Christian perspective was who I was; in fact, one of my most well received narratives was telling about Daddy’s victorious death. Audience members shared a multitude of similar experiences and I was convinced more than ever that the sting of death is negated when one belongs to Jesus. (O death, where is your sting? I Corinthians 15:55b)

Not once did I receive a complaint from a reader or a person attending one of my talks…except, that one Wednesday night. We met in the basement of a well-established, maybe even historical church. This group was genial and maybe just a little more high-brow than those who had previously invited me to speak. The subject was safety issues and someone asked a question about “taking the car keys away” from a loved one with Alzheimer’s. This is both a sensitive and an extremely serious topic. A dear friend of mine lost her daughter in a collision caused by a woman with Alzheimer’s who was driving the wrong way on the interstate. 

I responded that Daddy was very upset when he was no longer able to drive, because it had been his custom to visit “shut-ins” to read the Bible and pray with them. I mentioned his passion for soul-winning, noting that he witnessed about Jesus every chance he got, even while his Jewish podiatrist was clipping his toenails. A wave of good natured laughter wafted over the audience.

As I continued addressing this issue by reiterating it was a serious safety issue and suggesting that the best way to compensate is by providing transportation to insure regular activities are not diminished, a lady on the second row raised her hand.

“Yes, you have a question?” I nodded in her direction.

“Uh, I just want to say I don’t think it is ever right to try to force your religion on someone else.”

I had never thought of Daddy’s gentle words about salvation as “forcing your religion on someone else.” I was taken aback. Without saying a word, I looked to the pastor for assistance. Surely he would note that as Christians, telling others about Jesus is a high priority instead of something to be denounced. Maybe he would quote Jesus’ last charge to His disciples before His ascension – to go into all the world and make disciples. 

His smile was confident; he knew how to handle this. “Mrs. Johnson, we invited you here to talk about caregiving, not Jesus,” was the pastor’s response.

Yikes! Didn’t see that coming. I breathed a silent prayer, gained my temporarily missing composure, and continued with my presentation. The lady who had asked the question slipped out through the exit door a few minutes later. Afterwards, during cookie and punch time, a few of the people assured me I had not been out of place. I was hoping to have an opportunity to exchange greetings with the pastor; it was obvious he went out of his way to avoid me.

It really was a learning experience. I would not have been surprised to be chastised for mentioning Jesus in a secular setting, but having it occur in a church was eye-opening (and heart-breaking). This did not deter me from mentioning Jesus on future occasions. If anything, it made me more determined than ever to share the Gospel of Jesus with a lost world.

Speaking of a lost world – we live in one. People need the Lord. Although no one Christian can win the whole world (some certainly work at it harder than others),  it is my conviction that if each Christian does His part – whatever assignment God has for him or her – the Great Commission will be accomplished. 

The year Daddy died we were beginning to realize the new assignment God had given us: taking the Gospel to those who had never heard – in India. 

I had been enamored with India since Daddy gave me the trunk my step-grandmother had taken to that far away land in the early 1900’s when she served as a missionary at an orphanage. She had returned to the United States, married my widowed grandfather, and I am sure, helped instill in my dad the Christian character he so faithfully modeled throughout his life.

While we were taking care of Daddy, Randy accepted the invitation of a fellow pastor we had worked with in New York to travel to India on a short missions trip. That was the beginning of Vision India, a missions organization Randy founded with a fervent young man he met while there – Tarun Nayak. We started with prayer and a monthly newsletter to raise support for native pastors in Odisha, India. Randy asked me to edit the newsletter, and I have now done so for sixteen years. God has blessed the work. Vision India supports almost 300 native workers (pastors, evangelists, teachers); runs an orphanage – House of Hope – for 250 children; conducts an English school for over 200 children; and takes the gospel of Christ to those who have never heard – from big city slum neighborhoods to mountaintop jungle villages. Randy has taken me with him on four of his annual trips.

What a privilege it has been to share my testimony (through Tarun, a gifted interpreter) with thousands of men, women and children. I have prayed with repentant women to receive Christ as their Savior. I have called on men to turn from their worldly ways and become godly husbands and fathers. I have taught orphans how to sing “Into My Heart, Lord Jesus,” a simple but profound chorus I learned in Sunday school when I was five years old. I explained to the children that it can be much more than a lovely tune. When sung sincerely from the heart, it can be the beginning of a new life in Christ. 

It has been one of the greatest blessings of my life to see these people turn from their false gods and goddesses to the One True God. Our entire family is actively involved in Vision India through prayer and financial support. We are so thankful God opened this door for us to be a small part in soul-winning efforts in India. 

Recently we encountered a problem with our screen porch floors – new stain that didn’t want to dry – and I called the man who had refinished our interior hardwood floors for advice. When he stopped by a few days later, he mentioned Roger, a man who used to rent some storage space from Daddy. “I don’t think he’s going to be around much longer, he’s not in good shape,” was his conclusion. 

I knew this man had lived a rough life and that Daddy had taken an interest in him and his soul and had often witnessed to him. 

When Randy got home that evening, I told him we needed to visit Roger. We planned to go the next day. When we got to his house, I knocked and knocked on the front door but heard no reply. “I’m Ruth, Boyd Wright’s daughter!” I called out. I even attempted to open the door, but it was securely locked.

Finally, I heard a weak voice. “Back door, back door!”

Randy and I hurried to the back of the house and let ourselves in…through the cluttered kitchen to the more-cluttered living room. A coffee table was laden with canned foods and a worn opener. A wheelchair blocked our access to the sofa. When I rolled it to the side, Roger sat up.

“Now who are you?” he asked, a look of not-quite recognition on his face.

“Ruth, Boyd Wright’s daughter,” I replied, offering my hand.

A big smile crossed his face. He took my hand and shook it enthusiastically. We reminisced and caught up. I loved hearing him share his memories of visiting Mama and Daddy on the farm. After we had conversed for a while, I told him that I had heard he was having some serious health problems, and I just wanted to make sure he was ready if God called him home. 

His voice quivered and tears flowed as he recounted his “sinful life” but he assured us, in no small part to Daddy’s “witnessing” he had repented and “got saved.”

Randy quoted appropriate scriptures and encouraged him to read his Bible and pray. We joined hands and prayed together. 

Frequently, I remember those last words I spoke to Daddy…and they have certainly prompted me to talk and write about Jesus, and as the Spirit leads me, to ask, “Do you know Jesus as your Savior?”

Well, do you? 

Into my heart, into my heart,
Come into my heart, Lord Jesus.
Come in today, come in to stay,
Come into my heart, Lord Jesus.