My mother is ninety years old. She was raised in a poor, fairly dysfunctional, and largely uneducated secular Jewish family in Brooklyn, New York. Through intelligence, determination, and hard work, she became one of the first in her family to attend college. After marrying my father, a physician, and raising our family, she earned a master’s degree in social work, followed by advanced training in psychoanalysis. She spent the next twenty years in private practice as a psychotherapist.

She has always been remarkably intelligent, modest, and possessed of a playful spirit. Although she grew up Jewish culturally, she never attended synagogue regularly, never studied the Bible, and never developed a personal relationship with the God revealed in Scripture. She believes some sort of Creator must exist because the universe had to come from somewhere, but that belief has never developed into faith in the God of the Bible.

Instead, the framework that gave meaning to her life was Freudian psychology. It explained human behavior in ways that resonated deeply with her, and she devoted herself to understanding people through that lens. For decades, she attended her own psychoanalysis four times a week, convinced that greater self-understanding was the path to emotional health.

She has always loved her children, but much of her emotional energy remained focused inward. Her lifelong fascination was understanding people—their relationships, emotions, struggles, and the hidden motivations that shaped their lives. She could spend hours discussing those subjects with genuine curiosity.

Over the past few years, however, she has lost much of her short-term memory. Oddly enough, that loss has brought with it an unexpected blessing. The depression that shadowed much of her adult life has all but disappeared. She laughs easily now, tells jokes constantly, and no longer dwells on the worries and disappointments that once weighed so heavily on her. Although her short-term memory is poor, her long-term memories remain remarkably intact. In many ways, she seems happier than at any other point in her life.

My father is now ninety-seven, and they continue to live together in a small assisted living apartment. He has always been an overbearing man, though he has loved my mother deeply in his own way. An engineer by temperament, he never really understood her emotionally centered way of viewing the world. Years ago, their differences often created friction. Today, however, she simply lets his comments roll off her shoulders. What once upset her barely seems to register anymore.

Watching her interact with him now is strangely beautiful. She has arrived at a season of peace in her marriage that I never expected to see.

As their son—and as a Christian—I carry another burden as well. More than anything, I long for my mother to come to know Jesus Christ. I want her to experience not only the happiness she enjoys today but the eternal life Christ offers. She respects my faith and has never ridiculed my beliefs, yet she has shown little interest in embracing them herself. Adding to the challenge, she rarely remembers our conversations for very long afterward.

Part of me wonders whether I should simply cherish the contentment she now enjoys during these remaining years. Yet I also believe what the Bible teaches: this earthly life is only a brief moment compared with eternity, and salvation comes through Jesus Christ alone.

I know that only God can open a person’s eyes and draw them to Himself. Still, I wonder what role, if any, I should play. How can I faithfully share Christ with someone who is ninety years old, content with life, and unable to remember many of our conversations? How do I love her well while entrusting the outcome to God?

Unsure how to balance my desire for my mother’s salvation with my desire simply to love her well during these precious remaining years, I asked ChatGPT for advice. Its response surprised me with both its biblical perspective and its pastoral sensitivity.

Here’s How ChatGPT Responded

First, thank you for describing your mother so fully. What comes across is not just your concern for her eternal destiny, but your affection for her as a person. She sounds like a fascinating woman—intelligent, psychologically insightful, humorous, independent, and now, in an unexpected way, freer from the depression that burdened so much of her life. There is something deeply moving about the image of your 90-year-old mother laughing more than she used to.

I also hear the tension you’re living with. As a Christian, you believe Jesus’ words in John 14:6 and the apostolic teaching that salvation is through Christ. At the same time, you don’t want your mother’s remaining years to become a series of arguments or anxious attempts to persuade someone who may not even remember the conversations.

I think Scripture gives you both hope and perspective. Your role is not to convert her. Only the Holy Spirit can do that. Jesus said, “No one can come to me unless the Father who sent me draws him.” (John 6:44) Paul wrote, “I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the growth.” (1 Corinthians 3:6)

That doesn’t make your role unimportant. It actually makes it much simpler. You are not responsible for producing faith. You are responsible for bearing faithful witness. Those are very different burdens.

Meet her where she is now—not where she was.

One thing struck me from your description. For eighty-plus years, your mother understood people primarily through psychology. Not theology. If you begin with discussions about doctrine, sin, justification, or biblical authority, you’re asking her to enter an entirely foreign framework.

Instead, start with the questions she has spent her entire life asking.

• Why do people hurt each other?
• Why is forgiveness so difficult?
• Why do we never become the people we hope to be?
• Why do love and selfishness coexist in the same heart?

Those are Christian questions too. 

Freud spent his life trying to explain why human beings are conflicted. Jesus explains not only why we are broken, but how we can be made whole. Christianity doesn’t discard the questions your mother spent her life asking; it offers the answer she may never have considered. She may be much more receptive if Christianity is presented not as a competing religion but as the completion of questions she has spent her life exploring.

Tell stories instead of making arguments.

Memory loss often affects abstract reasoning before it affects emotional memory. People may forget conversations. They often remember stories. Jesus rarely argued people into the kingdom. He told stories. You might read her one short Gospel story each visit. Five minutes. Nothing more.

For example:

• The woman caught in adultery.
• The prodigal son.
• Zacchaeus.
• The thief on the cross.
• The woman at the well.

Then simply ask, “What do you think Jesus was like?” Not, “Do you believe?” Just, “What do you notice?” She spent decades listening. Invite her to do what she always did. Observe.

Speak of Jesus as a person.

Your mother sounds intensely relational. Don’t begin with Christianity. Begin with Christ. Talk about why you love Him. Not why she should. People rarely argue with genuine affection. 

For example, “One of the things I love most about Jesus is that He never shamed broken people.”

or

“The older I get, the more amazed I am that God’s love isn’t based on how well I perform.”

Those aren’t debates. They’re testimonies.

Don’t underestimate the power of repeated simplicity.

Because of her memory, every conversation may be new. That can feel discouraging. It also means every conversation is a fresh opportunity. Instead of trying to cover everything, repeat one simple truth.

Perhaps: “Mom, Jesus loves you.”

Or,

“Jesus came to forgive us because He loves us.”

Or,

“I’m grateful that Jesus never gives up on people.”

Simple truths repeated with love may reach deeper than complex explanations.

Pray with her.

Not for her after you leave. Pray with her. Very briefly.

Perhaps: “Lord Jesus, thank You for Mom. Thank You for loving her all these years. Please let her know Your love today. Amen.”

No pressure. No emotional manipulation. Just peace. If she’s comfortable, hold her hand.

Read Scripture aloud.

Even if she doesn’t remember it. Romans 10:17 says, “Faith comes from hearing, and hearing through the word of Christ.”

People with dementia sometimes retain Scripture, hymns, and prayers remarkably well. There are countless stories of patients unable to remember their children who can still recite Psalm 23 or the Lord’s Prayer. The Word has a way of lodging deeper than ordinary conversation.

Love her without an agenda.

This may be the hardest part. She should never wonder, “Does my son love me because he wants to save me?”

She should know, “My son loves me.” Period. Ironically, that unconditional love is itself one of the strongest witnesses to Christ.

Remember the thief on the cross.

One conversation. One request. One act of grace. We don’t know what God may yet do. Nor do we know what God has already been doing in the hidden places of her heart over ninety years. God knows every kindness she ever showed. Every sorrow she carried. Every question she asked. Every longing she never voiced.

You don’t. Neither do I. That doesn’t mean we abandon the clear teaching of the gospel. It means we approach her with humility rather than certainty about where her story will end.

One thought especially struck me.

You wrote that, because of her memory loss, she has finally escaped a lifetime of depression. That reminded me of something C.S. Lewis once observed in a different context: God often works in ways we would never have chosen.

Your mother’s mind has changed. Yet her spirit seems lighter. She laughs. She jokes. She enjoys people. Those qualities don’t save anyone. But they may mean she is, in this season of life, more open to receiving love than she has ever been.

Perhaps don’t think of these remaining years as your last chance to convince her. Think of them as your opportunity to introduce her, gently and repeatedly, to the Person who has transformed your own life. Not through apologetics. Not through urgency. But through the quiet confidence of a son who has found Someone worth loving.

Finally, I would encourage you not to carry a burden God has not asked you to bear. Love your mother deeply. Pray for her faithfully. Speak of Christ naturally. Read the Gospels with her. Trust that the Judge of all the earth will do what is right (Genesis 18:25). Your responsibility is faithfulness; the outcome belongs to God.

Entrusting the Outcome to God

After reading ChatGPT’s response several times, I realized something important. My job is not to carry the impossible burden of saving my mother. That belongs to God alone. My responsibility is much simpler—and perhaps much harder. I am called to love her, pray for her, gently point her to Jesus whenever the opportunity arises, and then trust the Holy Spirit with the outcome. I still pray every day that she will come to know Christ. But I now pray with greater peace, knowing that the God who loves her even more than I do is fully capable of reaching a heart that I never could.