A Melodious Sonnet

I’ve been debating whether or not to share this, but I’ve decided I will. Death eventually happens to all of us—as Ray Comfort likes to say, ten out of ten people die. Over the last few months, two good friends of ours, both older Christians, have gone on to glory. Here are my goodbyes to them.

The following was written the evening we heard of Barry’s passing on.

I knew, when the phone call came in at 9:45 that evening, what it would be—even before Mom hung up and told me the news. The time had come to say goodbye. It hurts. We’ve seen it coming for years, and yet the pain is still there. Saying goodbye to someone dear is one of the hardest things any of us can ever do.

He’s been a close friend—surrogate Grandfather—for almost six years now. We’ve grown to love him, he us, and although we’ve had many differences over the years I think it’s probably always been obvious that he brought things up out of love and concern for our spiritual well being.

Picture taken in September 2010. Barry loved all things trains, and made several steam engines of his own. Here, he is showing one of them to us.

I will always lovingly remember his example, his unwavering truthfulness, and his commitment to Jesus. I’m going to miss his messages to us, his sincerity, and the reverence he paid to the Lord. Not just me; we’ll all miss him a lot. It’s going to be hard to go to church and know that he’ll never come through those doors again, briefcase in hand, ready to share his most recent findings in Ephesians. Or Hebrews, or Genesis—whatever portion of scripture has recently captivated his attention.

At the same time, I am so happy for him. He no longer has to endure the intense pain from his many illnesses, no longer has to go through surgeries or see specialists he doesn’t want to see. No longer does he have to worry about his health and feeble body. He has gone to rest, a soldier of the cross to the very end.

There are some things I wish I could have said to him, some things I’m glad I told him. As a brother in the Lord, a teacher of the flock, and grandfather to more than just his family, he will be missed by many.

Goodbye, Barry. I’ll see you on the other shore.

My sermon notes from the last message Barry shared. Looking back, it was incredible to realize what his last testimony to his church family contained. He was so happy then, even though he had been so sick. God was definitely with him the last few days and weeks he had on this earth.

My goodbye to another friend, Daryl.

It came as a shock that he was sick. We had seen him not too long before, healthy, happy, trusting his Lord. He had come up one Sunday morning to worship with us, and we had had a sweet time of fellowship—the kind that only can come between fellow believers. That day, we practiced the John 13 admonition to “wash one another’s feet”, something that I had never had the privilege to participate in although I was familiar with it from the believers we worshiped with in the States. It was a precious bonding day.

Now he was sick, and no one knew if he’d pull out of it or not. Then came the news that the family had to move, but thankfully they didn’t have to go far. Dad and my brothers went to help him butcher a few sheep, and when they came back we were saddened to learn how much worse his condition had gotten since our last meeting.

Soon, he was even worse. We visited briefly a couple times. The last time we saw him was a week and a half before he died. He was still the caring, loving man we had always known. Despite his condition and the fact that he was getting quite tired, he asked my brothers what they had been creating the last while. He still cared about our lives—even when his body was giving out. We prayed together one last time, although none of us knew then that it would be the last. We all hoped and prayed fervently that he would be healed. He had become a good friend to all of us.

Not long after, we heard that he had gone to glory. A terrible blow to the family, and one that rippled through all of us as well. He touched many lives. He gave himself tirelessly to point everyone to Jesus, even when he was sick. He will be missed—even by those of us who haven’t known him very long. He was a prayer warrior—a faith warrior—to the end.

Goodbye, Daryl. You will be sorely missed, but your legacy, your faith, your example, will not be forgotten by us.