I distinctly remember the first time someone “witnessed” to me. My best friend and I were hired by a Niagara area family farm to pick cherries. As we were just 13 years old, the farmer’s son picked us up at my friend’s house to drive us to work. I didn’t know the family at all, so my first introduction to the young man was him saying, “Good morning” and “here”, as he tossed an evangelism tract over his shoulder without even a glance into the back seat.

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