She was an Evolutionist, because that’s what all her teachers told her to be. Since her earliest days of questioning the world, she never doubted that her ancestors were cousins to monkeys. The Bible was a book of fairy tales. Adam, Eve, and Creation were all just a silly myth.
She was poor, because her family was poor. At age 16, she was the first child ever to go so far in school—junior college away from her village. Education, she knew, was her only hope for escaping that life, of bringing her family out of poverty and of repaying her mother for a lifetime of sacrifice in raising four children under the one-child policy.
Her chosen field was English education, something that would allow her to teach and help other young girls (hopefully) out of poverty. Save herself, then her family, then the others—this was her dream.
One teacher at the college differed from the rest. Of course he did—he was American, as were his wife and kids. But he was also different in that he didn’t just solemnly read his lectures to the class but engaged the students in discussion, told jokes, knew the students’ names because he wanted to know them.
And outside the classroom too, he was different. This teacher even invited her to his home to meet his wife and children. Together they’d share meals, speak English, and play games. They even asked her to teach them some Chinese, which she was thrilled to do. His wife, though rarely seen on campus, was raising these children and educating them at home, something she’d never seen before.
Then one day, almost a year into this budding friendship, the teacher and his wife invited her over to the house. The house was quiet, except for soft music playing in the background. Where the kids had gone, she had no idea, but the room and peaceful was inviting and the conversation light.
When the couple left the room to prepare a snack, she noticed some literature on the table written in English—titles with “God” and “Creator” and “Salvation” piqued her interest, so she started reading. When her teacher returned, she asked, “What are all these materials about?”
Then for the first time in her student career, a teacher told her something different about the origin of the world, something she had never heard before, something so unexpected that it scratched an itch deep in her soul that she hadn’t even been aware she had.
For hours, her teacher and his wife explained God as the Creator of everything in the universe, as the designer of all life in their myriad of species, as the developer of natural laws that keep this planet a living and breathing thing. They didn’t need to explain away the implausibilities of Evolution, for the logic they described in Creation was enough.
She didn’t immediately believe in God after this first encounter, but she now knew enough to ponder new insights and to doubt what she had been taught before. That night, unable to sleep, she gazed up into the starry night sky and whispered her first-ever prayer: “Oh God, if you truly exist, please help me to understand all this.” With that, she went to sleep.
In the morning, she awoke with a clear answer burning in her heart that God must be real, Creation by design is the only plausible explanation for the universe, Evolution must be a myth and a lie—and if that’s the case, what else has her teachers been lying to her about?
She then rushed over to her teacher’s home and pounded on the door. When he opened the door, she blurted out, “I want to know more about this God and how I can be his child like you said! I want that salvation you talked about!”
His stern response at the door disheartened her, and she thought he was upset and that he’d never tell her more, but with a glance around, he invited her in and again they sat in the living room and talked for hours. He introduced her to Jesus, answered her plethora of questions and—knowing she understood at least as much as she could so early on—led her in prayer to the Savior.
My wife shared this testimony of her salvation with some friends last night. Though it all happened 30 years ago, these memories still sit fresh in her mind. It’s how she met the Savior! It’s a story she loves to tell.
What grabbed my attention though, as I listened to her share this story again, is why she told it last night. She wasn’t evangelizing anyone but speaking directly to a stay-at-home-mom-of-seven who homeschools her kids and yet who longs with her husband to serve on the mission field. They’re just not sure how they could swing it.
My wife shared this story to encourage her that this missionary couple in China 30 years ago didn’t do anything special. The husband worked as a teacher, while the wife stayed at home raising the kids. They didn’t preach or evangelize the lost in their community, but they befriended folks like my wife, the inquisitive student, and in doing so—in living a normal life as believers in a foreign land—they paved the way for the Truth to be shared in God’s own timing. Their home was where it all happened.
Gospel conversations with friends at the table rather than Gospel confrontations with strangers in the world—that’s honestly what evangelism and missions is all about, and it doesn’t matter if you’re an eloquent professor or a somewhat-shy homeschool mom. God can use you to reach the lost. You just need to be willing and friendly and genuine.
Anyone can be a missionary. Training starts in your own home today.
©2026 E.T.