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Well, it’s Sunday morning once again. I hoped and prayed, that you would be back in “your official” seat. Every Sunday you were here, dressed in your suit, shirt, and tie, except during, “dress down summer”. This Sunday, I know that you won’t be here, with all of us, ever again. I have been thinking about you so much, and how you touched the lives of so many people, in your gentle, and soft spoken way.
My memory goes to the years in the past. I was reminded about all of the times, we younger ones, would love to ring the bell, at the old church. We would pull the rope and hang onto it, and because the bell was so heavy, it would pull us up and down. Wow! That was so much fun, until the bell would turn over, and then get stuck. Well, of course, you were the one that climbed up into the bell tower, and turned it back over again. You probably would have liked to have hung all of us, with the rope, but you never said a word.
And of course there was your famous recipe, for your special sugar cookies. You always brought them to every pot luck. We would look for the cookies, even before we ate, just to have a little snack. Oh yes, and who will ever forget the time, at one of our celebrations, that you jumped up, out of your chair, and started throwing eggs. I just about fell out of my chair laughing.
I think about the times, in our old church, that I would come in for the service. You would be teaching the adult Sunday School Class. You would be standing, have your back to the altar, and be facing the adult class. It just seemed like you were always there. You were always patient with all of us in Sunday School Class. Even as adults, we always had to chit-chat before the lesson. You just waited until everyone was quiet, and then you started to teach . . . never rushed, never hurried, just patient.
I can never remember a time that you didn’t teach Sunday School. You must have taught for at least 50 years. You came to everything for everyone. You supported all of us at our graduations, weddings, and the funerals of our parents. We could always count on you to be there for us. I know that you are not in your “special seat” today, but I do know that you are in a special seat in heaven. You lived your life the way God would like for all of us to do . . . by living for Him, and loving others. Your gravestone says, “Gone Fishing”. Today, you are probably fishing, listening to the radio, and saying, “ Go Cubs”. Elmer . . . we all will miss you. “Well done, my good, and faithful servant”.