A Shepherd's Heart: The Legacy of Pastor Larry

       Larry with one of the children in Honduras  

 I was asked not too long ago what my husband Larry’s favorite Bible passage might be. I honestly didn’t know. I had of course heard him preach hundreds of sermons over the years. I have lined up on a bookshelf several loose-leaf notebooks full of messages that he compiled over his forty-some years of pastoring. Also, an over-flowing cardboard box sits on his closet floor full of papers with sermon titles, waiting to be either organized or shredded. As for his favorite, I was clueless, and no, I never thought to ask.

Recently I gave Fawn her dad’s Bible. This past week she asked me the same thing, if I knew what his favorite verses might have been. She pointed out that she found his mention of a passage from Philippians a few times as she thumbed through the well-worn pages:

“And this is my prayer: that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight, so that you may be able to discern what is best and may be pure and blameless for the day of Christ, filled with the fruit of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ—to the glory and praise of God.” Philippians 1:9-11

I imagine Larry had several favorite portions of scripture; it would have been hard for him to settle on one. But as I read over this passage, I couldn’t help but think how beautifully it described him as he walked the path that God had prepared for him those many years ago.

Yes, he was a preacher, and a good one. He spent hours preparing his messages, and it showed. But his greatest gift? He had the heart of a pastor, a shepherd who genuinely loved the sheep entrusted to him. It wasn’t just the late-night calls from emergency rooms or sitting with a family saying their final goodbyes at the bedside of a loved one.  It went far beyond what might have been expected of him.

It would take an entire book to tell the many stories of the people he touched. Here are just a few:

She didn’t attend our church; he didn’t even know her. But that didn’t matter. She had a mess, the result of a kitchen fire. I don’t remember how he became aware of her need, but he went, and for several hours he scrubbed the walls and did what he could to make that home habitable once again. A couple of years ago we were attending a Christian concert in the area. A woman sitting in the row behind us recognized us and introduced herself. She was the daughter of the woman whose home had suffered that fire those many years earlier. She expressed how much his kindness had meant to them, always remembered. And never forgotten. 

Sarah Stephens, a writer with the local paper, knew Larry quite well and contacted him concerning a pair of young people, siblings, who lived in horrible conditions with their father. Their trailer was in squalor with sinking floors and crumbling walls. Could he help? She would find a place for them to stay, but their stuff, including some pet rabbits, needed hauled and temporarily stored. The church’s utility room was soon full of their possessions, with the cages and their pets directly outside the back door. Some grumbled about the pastor bringing those dirty things into the church. The contents in those containers were not the cleanest, and it was necessary to call the pest control people in before the whole thing was over. But I don’t think Larry thought much about that. I don’t know where that brother and sister are now, but my hope is that they will never forget the kindness extended to them through the hands and feet of two people who saw their need and did something about it.  

He showed up at the church one day, desperate for help. With an invalid daughter and the loss of his job, he and his family had been forced to move out of their home and into a dark, gloomy substandard mobile home. He didn’t ask for money, just if we might have some food for his family. There was no hesitation. Larry gathered up the food that had been donated and followed the man to his place so that he might know where he lived. For the next several months they were visited, encouraged and through my husband’s example, others from the church helped provide for some of the personal needs of that man and his family. Eventually, with a new job and improved finances, he was able to move his family into a nice home, which he insisted we come to see. As we stood in the living room, the contrast between that dark trailer and this place with the light pouring through the windows was striking. But even more so was the light in that father’s eyes, so different than the first time we had met.

And that’s what my pastor/husband did. His love knew no bounds, no matter who the person or what their story might be... 

 

...And it was all to the praise and glory of his God. 

The Kit

 

                                      The Kit cradled in my hand

I saw the bird first, barely recognizable, torn into several pieces. I knew immediately that it had obviously met up with my cat that I hadn’t been able to call in the night before. Poor bird. I know cats will do cat things, but I still felt bad for the feathered fellow. And then I saw it. A slight movement just inches away from the carnage in the grass drew my attention to the small creature that lay there, its chest moving just slightly. I drew closer. A baby rabbit, appearing to be just days old, had obviously met up with my feline as well. How or where, I didn’t know, but there would have been no chase as with the bird. He had most likely been taken from his family's burrow. There was a small puncture wound where the perpetrator had most likely latched to carry him across the yard, but he was most definitely alive. Carefully I picked him up, and as I began to gently caress his body, he stretched, extending his legs.  

I had left the house for my morning walk when I made the discovery of that tiny kit just steps from the back door. I knew as he responded to my touch that I wasn’t to leave him alone. I grabbed a couple of tissues and, holding him in my left hand, started down the path behind our home that leads to the park’s walking track.

As I left the trail and entered the park, suddenly, without warning, I began to cry. Grief often comes unexpectedly, bringing with it an overwhelming sense of loss and the realization that things will never, ever be the same again. Memories of my husband lying in that hospital bed five months earlier washed over me like a flood. I looked at the tiny creature that I held close, feeling my caress as I walked. Those long days that Larry lay in that narrow hospital bed, hooked to tubes and lines, I wish I could have held him close like this.

I walked the trail for about an hour, at times smiling and greeting others as we passed. And then there were the moments when the tears would come without any prompting. They just came. It was then that I would hold that tiny creature I was carrying just a bit closer to my heart.

When I was young, our cats would often drag home young rabbits. We were never able to save any of them. So, on my return home, I prayed, asking the Lord to show me where the burrow was. I knew the chances of survival would be better with the mama. It didn’t take long to find, recognizing it by the rabbit fur surrounding the hole. I placed him deep inside, feeling as I did so, the softness of his siblings. I hope he makes it. Whatever the outcome, I hope I was able to offer that tiny kit, at least for a little while, a bit of comfort. I know he did that for me.      

CALLIE

 

Callie

I had never felt so alone. As I crawled into bed that first night without Larry, I was never more aware of the gulf between where I lay and the side that had been his. Though a king size, it had never seemed quite this big before. The bedspread, where he would have been, lay flat with his two pillows set neatly in their place. The emptiness of that space matched the feelings I had at that moment. The longing to have him there, lying close to me, was overwhelming. I just wanted to feel him, feel something. I turned to my side, reached for the light and welcomed the darkness, anxious for sleep to take me away from these feelings of loneliness and loss. 

It could not have been more than a minute or two later when I heard a plop on the bed and then felt the weight and warmth of a small body lying on the back of my legs. Callie, the calico that I had rescued just a few months earlier, did something she had never done before. She decided to not only join me in bed that night, but to lie in such a way that I would especially feel her closeness, her touch. And I was comforted.  

Callie has continued to climb onto my bed since that first night, waiting for me to settle in so that she can draw close for those few moments. God has his ways. For me, he brought a little calico cat into my life that no one else wanted. I believe it was for this very time, to remind me that I am seen and loved and cared for more than I can possibly imagine. And for that, I am grateful.