folks complained about the scantily clad female sales team in his booth,
and a couple of concerned citizens finally had to get on him and tell him the
lemonade girls needed to put on more clothes. Still, it seems he did have
quite a long line at his stand those first couple of nights.
In August 2004, Sonja and I set up a booth on the midway to interest out-
of-town fair visitors in our garage-door business.
But as always, I had to carve out time to balance that business with the
business of caring for our congregation. One warm afternoon during that
fair week, all four of us—Sonja and I and the two kids—were tending the
booth, passing out brochures and chatting with prospective customers. But
I needed to break away and drive a few blocks over to the Imperial Manor
nursing home to visit a man named Harold Greer.
At the time, Harold’s daughter, Gloria Marshall, played keyboard on our
worship team at church, and her husband, Daniel, was serving as my
assistant pastor and worship leader. Harold, himself a minister most of his
life, was in his eighties and dying. I knew he was closing in on his last
hours and that I needed to pay another visit to support Daniel and Gloria,
and to pray with Harold at least one more time.
When you’re a pastor/volunteer firefighter/wrestling coach/ business
owner trying to juggle all the pins without letting any fall, you learn pretty
quickly that children are highly portable. For her part, Sonja was serving as
a pastor’s wife, a full-time job in itself, plus as a mom, teacher, library
volunteer, and secretary for the family business. Over the years, we had
developed the habit that if we weren’t formally going to work, we’d pick a
kid and take him or her with us. So that afternoon at the fair, I left Sonja,
now seven months pregnant, and Cassie in charge of our vendor booth
and strapped Colton into his car seat in my truck, and headed over to the
nursing home.
Colton peered out the window as we passed the Ferris wheel on our
way off the fairgrounds. “We’re going to see Gloria’s dad, Harold, at the
nursing home,” I said. “He’s not doing well and probably doesn’t have too
much time left. Harold gave his life to Jesus a long time ago, and he’s
getting ready to go to heaven.”
Colton didn’t look away from the window. “Okay, Daddy.”
The nursing home is a sprawling one-story building with a huge dining