Her name was Bonnie. She was 75 and had lived a wonderfully full life. She and her late husband Bob had never had children. Because of this she looked at Marsha and I as surrogate kids. We were just about the age her kids might have been had she ever had any and she loved to have us over. Of course, as her pastor I had to watch that. A wealthy lady with only a niece. It could easily look like we were trying to exploit her. But we enjoyed her, as well. She was just fun to be around. 

And then, while in the hospital for dehydration, she was administered someone else's medicine. It had a disastrous effect. It immediately caused her liver to start shutting down. She went into a spiraling fall from good health to approaching death. She was put on a transplant list, but it seemed unlikely that a new liver would be there in time. She slipped quickly.

As it happened, we had two others in the church who were also going through severe medical issues and who were dying. It was a Thursday and I had gone to the hospital to be with one, then to the other's home and now I was walking through Bonnie's door. She was curled up on her bed in a fetal position. The Hospice worker (real heroes) just looked at me and gave me a slight head shake. I kneeled down on the floor next to her bed and softly called her name. She opened her eyes. "Where have you been! Where have you been!?" "Bonnie, I'm sorry, but I have been with Edna and then with Bob. They need me, too." "NO! Just me! You should be with me!" With that she gripped my hand and held on to it until she died. 

Now, your first thought might be that she was being selfish, but she wasn't like that at all. However, she was dying, and she was in pain, and she wanted me there when the moment came. As you die your focus goes inward. I understood, but I did really feel bad for her because she felt she was being ignored. 

Then there was Lou. I pastored a church in Warren, Ohio and Lou was Board president when I went there. Just a wonderful guy. Their back yard and our back yard were separated by a chain link fence. Most mornings in good weather (that would be any weather that hadn't dumped a foot of snow) Lou and I would be at the fence around 6 AM, drinking coffee and gabbing. He was my father's age, but that is where any resemblance ended. He loved baseball and had coached Little League and girl's softball and had done this for over forty years. His youngest daughter had been a catcher for Ohio State's women's softball. He LOVED baseball and really loved the Indians. I talked him into starting a church softball team and when we eventually won the league championship, he wept. He was closer to me than my own father.

And then we moved to another church, eighty miles away. Lou and I kept in touch, but this new church was filled with new characters. One was Dennis. Dennis was a card. A tall black man, his voice rivaled James Earl Jones. He talked me into singing a special with him. "Why me, Dennis?" "Because, my young friend, a black man and a white man singing the Gospel together says something!" I sang, but I made sure they heard Dennis rather than me. He, too, loved baseball, and we attended several minor league games together. Dennis was going blind, so I always drove. He would hold onto my arm as we went to our seats. Once settled in, we would talk baseball together and with anyone around us. Once the game started, Dennis could tell where the ball was headed by the sound of the crack of the bat. He listened to the announcer at the beginning of the game and memorized the batting order and their positions. Dennis became the big brother I never had.

And then, out of the blue, Lou and Dennis died on the same day. Suddenly for both, which is really hard. I was going to do the funeral for Dennis because I was his pastor, which was on the same day as Lou's, so I couldn't go to Lou's funeral. On the day before both funerals, I visited with Dennis' family and then got in the car and traveled to Lou's visitation. Even though I had been gone for several years, I still had to be Pastor Wade. I did pretty well until Lou's wife gave me the ball we had all signed for Lou when we won that championship. Then I just crumbled. The next day I did OK for Dennis until they lowered the casket. And again, I crumbled.

There is a reason for this dark trip down memory lane. This is Pastor Appreciation Month. I know, I know. Your pastor doesn't preach well enough or your pastor doesn't check on you enough or your pastor doesn't wear the right clothes. Maybe he spends too much time with his family to suit you or maybe he doesn't spend enough time with his family to suit you. Maybe he is to educated and speaks over your head or maybe he isn't educated enough and speaks below your intellect. It could be you feel he doesn't work very hard or maybe you feel he works too hard. Chances are your pastor just doesn't suit you. I have no particular pastor in mind here. I know I am at least writing to people in Pennsylvania and Florida and West Virginia and Ohio and Indiana and Kentucky and New York and several other places. A lot of pastors are involved. You may not feel he (or she, as the case may be) is doing the job, but consider. They have family that they need to be fair to. They have personal concerns. They have hurts that the PASTOR mask may hide. Everyone around them is one of the flock and some of those are ornery old sheep. Finding a real friend in that bunch is really hard. Even their own families don't really understand the way their hearts are made. And yet, that pastor loves the flock in a way that is hard, actually impossible, to define.

Pastor Appreciation Month. If the church is giving a gift, donate to it. If the church is giving a card with the gift, sign it. Send your own card, too. Come down off your little pedestal and reach out to this person. Be kind.

Blessings!