The rocking chair squeaked as Peggy Joyce leaned her head back and closed her eyes. At 22, she didn’t see how life could get any better. She wasn’t naïve enough to think everyone had grown up in a family as wonderful as hers—or married a man as kind and loving as Jack. There had never been a cross word between them all the time they’d dated and they still held that record after 2½ years of marriage.
“Thank You, Lord,” she murmured, kissing the soft fluff on the baby’s head.
Planning her day, Peggy Joyce remembered the Buddhist woman who’d moved into an apartment behind them. She’d never done door-to-door witnessing, but shouldn’t she at least go tell the woman about Jesus?
Later that morning, Peggy Joyce knocked on the woman’s door. “Hello,” she said, introducing herself. “I’m your neighbor and I’d like to tell you about Jesus.”
“Come in,” the woman said stepping aside. “I’ll be glad to listen to what you have to say, so long as you give me equal time.”
A chill rippled up the back of Peggy Joyce’s neck as she stepped into the apartment. It was dark, lit only by candles and incense. Stumbling over her words, she told the woman about Jesus.
“Now it’s my turn,” the woman said. As soon as she spoke, darkness fell over Peggy Joyce’s mind. It felt as though her brain had short-circuited, blitzing in every direction. I’ve got to get out of here!
Somehow she got out of the apartment and walked through the park, struggling without success to clear her mind and get it to focus. For the first time in her life, Peggy Joyce felt paralyzed with fear.
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BVOV : 11
