July 13, 2026

(Chuck’s note: I wrote this on Monday but I wanted to let it sit for a couple of days to make sure it said what I intended.  The date really has no bearing.)
      I got in late and then a storm hit, so by the time I finished swimming it was after 11:00 p.m.  I got in the shower and when I finished I had all intentions of either catching up on some bookwork or heading on to bed.
      However, something happened in the shower.   There was this undeniable urge to write.  If you have read many of these blogs over the last 3.5 years, then you know a couple of things.  
      First, I write when I sense the Spirit moving in my heart.  I sensed His moving while I was in the shower.
      Second, I write when I need to write more than you need to read what I have written.
      I have been a pastor for 45 years.  I have walked with lots of families when their loved ones were about to get the gain.  You’ve heard from me a lot that “For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.
      The two areas that I received the least amount of training in Seminary were the two areas that I feared the most as a pastor: weddings and funerals.  Both are in a sense a one-time shot.  If you mess up, you don’t have another opportunity.
I was a youth pastor for four years in Ashland at a large church that had lots of, shall we say, wiser folks.  
      The senior pastor did a six-week exchange with a pastor from Europe.  While he was gone, there was one stretch when I had 10 funerals in 12 days.  
      Baptism by fire.  The problem was that it was pretty much the same crowd who attended most of the 10.  Kinda of hard to say the same thing 10 straight times.  But God used that experience to hone my understanding and give me assurance that He would help me.
      I have had to deal with death like every pastor.  It goes with the calling, but it is rarely an easy calling.
      As I was in the shower I thought about some of the difficult ones.
      I buried twin girls who had a congenital defect.  There was hope that one of them would live, but that wasn’t the case.  There is still etched in my mind the two small white caskets that looked more like shoeboxes.
      I had a double funeral for a man’s son and sister who were murdered by an extended family member.
      Some of you knew David, a four-year-old who died of a brain tumor.  Yes, Megan, he was in your heart then and he is still in the hearts of all who knew him.
      I buried a young girl who was killed in a car accident.
      Trying to help Mike and Brittney after the sudden death of Lisa was more than a challenge.
      I walked through the ravages of breast cancer with Wesley, aka Sparkie, a thirty-something young girl.
      Two of the more difficult were William and Blake who never left the NICU.  Those short lives affected me then and still impact my life.
      Somehow trying to help Joyce and then the next year Richard has taken more than I could do.  It has taken the whole village.
      There were lots of others; these are just the ones that came to my mind.  Every one of them has been important.
      Many of you know that in the last 10 days Larry Clevinger has been diagnosed with inoperable and untreatable liver cancer.  Larry is more than a church member.  He is more than a brother in Christ.  He is more than a friend.  He is more than maybe the best Barnabas that I have had outside of my family.
      I have buried some of “my sheep” over the years.  I saw David Lowe walk out of the choir loft one Sunday morning and give his heart to Jesus.  Some years later I held his hand as he passed into the arms of Jesus.
      Larry is one of my sheep.  So is Mike Carter.  So are some others of you.  There is a closeness with Larry and Mike that simply comes with the territory. It doesn’t mean that I love them more than others.  I love them differently, like loving Caryn and Megan differently.  
      Larry gave his heart to Jesus one afternoon after we had lunch together at the old Nehemiah’s restaurant that was on Nicholasville Road.  Right there in the parking lot.   The Holy Spirit spoke, Larry responded, and Jesus changed his life. He was a new man.  
      I have watched that new man grow into one of the most committed disciples of Jesus whom I have known.  If I ever question the validity of my calling, I look at Larry and Mike.  Some others, too.
      Unless Jesus calls me home, walking with Larry through whatever time God deems left for him will not be easy for me.  I said to him that love makes you vulnerable.  It never hurts if you don’t love.
      Larry has been there for me.  In his words that I have often heard, “I am standing in the back of the room.”  He has stood “in the back of the room” praying for me far more times than I even know.
      Sometimes he has literally stood in the back of the room.  I have had some funerals that Larry knew would be difficult for me and even though he didn’t have a decent reason to be there, I have looked up and saw him standing in the back.
      Larry stood by me through a head-on car accident, showing up at the scene.
      Larry has made the trip to Mayo more than once.
      He has walked with me through three cancers.
      Repayment isn’t in my thought process.  Being there for him as he has been there for me is my heart’s desire and my head’s intention.
      I have prayed a lot for Larry.  Those prayers were initially for wisdom for the medical staff to diagnose his condition.  There have been prayers for healing.   God will answer those prayers, but it looks like it will be the healing that will someday come to all of us in the resurrection.
      My prayers have moved to prayers asking for God’s grace to be sufficient.  I have prayed that his suffering would be minimal and the discomfort would be tolerable.  I have prayed that he will keep his sharp mind until Jesus calls him home.  I have prayed for the sweet peace of Jesus to flood his heart.
      ​And maybe as much as anything else, I pray that our Lord Jesus will come to Larry with the power of the Holy Spirit to enable Larry to finish well.  
      You know what, that may be a prayer that I may not need to pray.  Over these 45 years as a pastor I have seen it happen over and over and over.  People usually die like they have lived.  
      ​Larry’s life has been lived well.  I have no doubt that this final chapter will be lived well, too.