Liz was a pretty, diminutive woman—my mom’s best friend. I knew her from the private tennis club where we were members and where I also worked in the pro shop after school and on the weekends. Her taking time to chat as peers earned Liz high marks with me.

Times changed and so did I. Once a conservative, shy, middle-class kid, university in the late ’60s saw me morph into a searching, lost, and very intense hippie dropout. On one of my many quests to find meaning in life, I visited all those who had influenced my life for good. Of course, this included Liz. Knocking on their door unannounced, she and her husband, quiet “Big John,” received this wild-eyed, ragged acquaintance from the past without prejudice or alarm. I sat and presented them—an older, upper-middle-class couple—with all my far-out theories and trippy ideas of the youth rebellion. If they rolled their eyes or winked at each other, I didn’t notice.

Providence had a hand on me, as about a year later I found what I was searching for. A friend told me how he had prayed and received Jesus as his Savior, and I did likewise. I decided to dedicate my life to Jesus, and a few years later He showed me to leave the U.S. and reach out to the young people of New Zealand and Australia. Moving back to the West Coast to make preparations for this mission, I remembered Liz. I had recently heard that she was suffering from a terminal disease and was on her deathbed. As I was visiting my mother at the time, she and I made arrangements to see Liz.

My old friend, who had been tolerant of an unannounced radical hippie visitor a few years back, was on guard at meeting an announced “true believer.” She had Parkinson’s disease, in the latter stages. Lying on her chaise longue, with her husband and mother attending, she listened as I chatted with her and filled her in on what had transpired in my life since our last meeting. She was amazed that someone had made so many changes in such a short time—“nice” young man, to bizarre hippie, to full-time volunteer ready to go overseas. But she was embittered toward religion and hard as nails concerning any mention of it beyond hearing me out about my experiences.

Seeing her tire, I knew it was time to go. Since I probably wouldn’t be able to see her again, after sending a short “telegram” to Heaven in the form of a prayer for help, I felt led to take the plunge and ask Liz if she would like to say a short prayer with me. After what seemed like a long period of silence, to the amazement of everyone present—including me—she simply said yes.

Kneeling beside her, I took her hand and we closed our eyes. First I felt my mother’s hand join ours, then Liz’s mom’s. Just as I started to pray, I felt Big John’s hand clamp down on ours as well. Not only Liz, but all repeated the simple salvation prayer, inviting Jesus to come into their hearts. When we finished, not one eye was dry.

Liz lived for several more months before moving on to Heaven. During that time her life completely changed. She avidly read her Bible, and thus was full of joy and faith, trusting God to heal her or take her Home—whatever His will was. Being an accomplished artist, she continued her painting, lying on her chaise longue—and she sent the proceeds from her sales to me in New Zealand. It helped us establish our work for the Lord there, which continues to this day.

Heaven is a place populated by those you invite to join you there. Looking forward to seeing you, Liz!

Reuben Ruchevsky is a full-time volunteer with the Family.