Time carries me back to a noon in March 2010. Sunlight streamed onto the bed where Dad was lying. The wrinkles on his face and the signs of illness could be clearly seen. A voice within me said, “He doesn’t have much time left in this world.” During that period, Dad was frequently in and out of hospital because of pneumonia and other illnesses. Each hospital admission was like an alarm, reminding me: Would he be discharged from the hospital this time?

       Apart from the pain of having to part with him, I was even more concerned that Dad had left the Lord when he was young because of the bad witness of others. There was a river separating his heart from Jesus. He said to me, “Pastors are all frauds, and now you’ve joined their ranks too!” I had no answer for him. As I write this, the Heavenly Father reminds me that Dad had been hurt in church when he was young. He has also reminded me to be careful in shepherding others, so that no one will be left with a scar on their heart because of me.

       Thanks be to Jesus, who gradually healed Dad’s wounds. On many Tuesdays, my regular day off, I accompanied him to his medical appointments. We chatted, joked and made each other laugh. Sometimes we quarreled, and I would apologize to him: “Dad, my attitude wasn’t good. I’m sorry!” He would always respond with a smile. Afternoon tea after his medical appointments—a cup of hot milk tea and a sandwich—was Dad’s favourite time. Gradually, the Heavenly Father allowed him to see that his daughter was not the kind of “fraud” he had imagined, and slowly opened his closed heart.

       Then, at noon that day in March 2010, I asked Dad with trepidation, “Dad, when the day comes for you to pass away, would you like to see me again?” I struggled within myself, as I was worried that he might think I was cursing him. To my surprise, he replied, “I want to see you again!” I immediately said, “Then you need to believe in Jesus, so that we can meet again one day in our heavenly home.” To my surprise, Dad replied, “Sure. I believe in Jesus!” I could hardly believe it. I immediately asked the sister in Christ who had come with me to enter the room. I confirmed Dad’s decision with him once more and briefly shared the gospel. With the sister as a witness, Dad repeated after me, sentence by sentence, a prayer of repentance and commitment to Christ. After the prayer, his face relaxed. I believe the peace of the Lord had entered his heart.

       Three months later, on June 7, Dad went to be with the Lord after suffering from acute pneumonia. Although my family and I were deeply saddened and reluctant to part with him, the Lord’s promise became our hope: “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die.” I firmly believe that one day I will see Dad again in our heavenly home.

       The Heavenly Father is the all-knowing God (John 21:17). In March 2010, He reminded me that Dad did not have much time left, but I did not know that he had only three more months. If I had resisted the Heavenly Father’s prompting at that time and had not shared the gospel with Dad, I dare not imagine what the outcome might have been.

       Recently, I heard a brother share: “Sharing the gospel with our family is like seeing a large truck about to hit them. You would pull them out of the way without hesitation because you love their lives.” Yet, the gospel concerns not only peace in this life, but eternal life. Therefore, sharing the gospel with our family is not a responsibility or a burden, but an expression of love and hope, because we genuinely long for our family members to know the Lord and receive the grace of eternal life.