Jennifer giggled at night when she watched us say grace. Once I had asked her what she believed and she had said they were C. of E. Dad said that meant Church of England and that they were closer to the truth than Roman Catholics but that nevertheless they prayed for the dead and said “Eucharist” when they meant “Communion.” He said there were some real Christians in the Church of England but not very many. Most of them were “only nominal believers. In fact so few attended church regularly, that ʻC. of E.’ has come to mean Christmas and Easter, because that’s the only time most of them bother going to church!” So I should witness to Jennifer if the Lord provided an opportunity, Mom said. The Lord almost never provided the opportunity. No one ever came up to me and said, “Sir, what must I do to be saved?” so I could quote John 3:16 and get them to invite Jesus into their hearts.

When my mom would ask us if we had anything we wanted to share concerning our witnessing at family prayers, I never had much to say. My sisters did a lot better. Janet had actually brought a boy home she had met in Lausanne to ask Dad questions about God, and she got him to pray the sinner’s prayer. Later he backslid and said he didn’t believe anymore, but at least Janet had tried, and Mom said it wasn’t her fault, that the cares of this life had raised up and choked his faith, and that if his “profession of faith” had been real the Lord would “bring him back to Himself by gentle chastisement in His own good time.”

Instead of witnessing to Jennifer, I lied to her. She had asked me what my dad did. This was a perfect opening of the Lord. I could have told her how he had come to live in Switzerland after the war to be a missionary to Swiss Roman Catholic youth. And that he was a Reformed Presbyterian minister who traveled around Europe preaching the gospel to youth wherever local Christians needed encouragement in their outreach to lost Roman Catholics. And how the youth of Europe were either backslidden Protestants, who had forgotten their great Reformation heritage (some of them didn’t even know who Calvin, who I was named for, was!), or worse, Roman Catholics who were in bondage to the Pope and Satan and were in the dark because they had never heard the real gospel or had been born again to a new life in Jesus as their personal Savior. Then I could have asked Jennifer if she had invited Jesus into her heart. Rachael would have.