Last Saturday, two ladies from the church were out soul-winning. As they approached a large yellow house with quaint burgundy shutters, they noticed the ramp leading up to the front door. It led up to a large porch with a swinging gate. When they knocked on the door, a kindly woman in her late forties greeted them warmly. She thanked the ladies for visiting, but explained that with all the company she had that day it would actually be better if the pastor could come by for a visit. She explained that her mother, a bed-ridden invalid was not saved and had a prognosis of advanced cancer.
On Tuesday, I visited only to find out that Ruby, the woman’s mother, had experienced a bad day and could not receive visitors. I assured the daughter that I would be glad to come at anytime and wrote my home phone number on a tract. Upon further examination, I learned that her mother had less than a month ...
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