After a long day of canvassing, a man rejoices in how the Holy Spirit used his witness to touch a family.

It was a hot summer Saturday, the kind of day that makes a trip to the beach very tempting. Instead, my wife and I had volunteered to assist one of our pastors in an outreach project for a mission congregation in a nearby city. A small group of dedicated people had been working there for some time to form a new congregation. They were asking for assistance in canvassing the nearby area.

We are always happy to talk about our love for Jesus, but this was to be a new experience for us. Despite a little apprehension, it seemed like an excellent opportunity to become better acquainted with our sister congregation's members and others from our church who might be involved in the project.

Working a mission field is a lot like working any other kind of field. If you look at the entire ground to be covered, the task can appear overwhelming. If you focus instead on the furrow to be plowed and then the next and the next, soon the field is ready for planting and, eventually, harvesting. So we worked the mission field, house by house, block by block, handing out leaflets, inviting people to come to church on Sunday, or leaving door hangers with an invitation when there was no answer. It was hot, dusty, and tiring work.

Most of the time we were met with apathy: "Sonny, I'm just not interested and don't have time to talk." Sometimes we were greeted with derision: "You people are crazy to be out here doing this on such a hot day."

Then there was a woman who I'll call Pearl. She never did tell me her name, but I'll never forget her or our conversation that day.

We were well into the afternoon's work when I saw Pearl at the end of her driveway, trimming a bush. As I approached and said hello, she looked up with a little suspicion but smiled and returned the greeting.  I introduced myself and explained that we were representing a new Lutheran church that was being organized nearby.

Pearl appeared slightly interested, so I gave her a leaflet and a personal invitation to come to the new church next Sunday. Pearl said that, although she missed going to church, she was a divorced Catholic and could not belong to a church anymore. If there ever was a time when the Holy Spirit opened a door, this was it.

Pearl and I talked about our similar backgrounds as members of the Catholic church. We discussed what the Bible says about sin. The discussion concluded with agreement that Christ did really pay for our sins, all of them, and we could add nothing to that payment. Finally, the only thing left was to invite Pearl again to come to church the next Sunday and talk to the pastor about the things we had discussed and to assure her that she really would be welcome.