If I could pick friends as family, these two would be a part of ours

Someday we'll meet again, as we all eventually travel on ahead of loved ones. The important thing is that we all reunite at the same destination.


There are some people who come into your life and leave a loving and deep impression. You may see them often or years could go by before you meet up again. They are the ones who make us smile whenever a memory pops into our head, and even after too much time apart it feels like no time at all has passed. They’re special, and when we lose them for good, at least here on earth, they are irreplaceable.

Donna was one such friend. She never forgot to send a birthday card, never looked at you without a smile on her face that went all the way up to her eyes and was always ready with a hug. She had a way of getting you to talk about yourself and making you comfortable doing it.

Her work ethic was unmatched. When we both belonged to the Evangelical Covenant Church, Donna volunteered to be its janitor. At one point I was doing the sanctuary cleaning—vacuuming, dusting, cleaning out the pews and such. But Donna did the heavy stuff. She cleaned the kitchen, the tile floors, the Sunday school rooms and nursery. She didn’t just wipe a mop across the floors and the steps; she got down on her hands and knees and scrubbed because, as she pointed out with that smile of hers, “You just can’t get ‘em clean in the corners when you use a mop.”

Not many saw Donna cleaning since the church was almost always empty then, but we saw the results. And she knew Who she was cleaning for and she felt honored to do it. Donna passed away last week and I’m going to miss her like I haven’t missed someone in a long, long time.

A few days ago I said good-bye to someone else high up there on my list of friends I’ll never forget. Hubby and I watched Pastor Bruce on television most Sunday mornings, and I almost always took notes. As soon as he’d hit a topic close to my heart I’d say, “I sure hope so-and-so heard that!” Then, without fail, I’d realize the message was meant for me. That never got old.

Late Sunday afternoon I was leaving the office when I caught the sound of a car idling. I looked across the street and saw Bruce walking slowly down the steps of the church, holding a cake. He glanced my way and called my name.

As the sun set and cars traveled back and forth on Main, we met in the middle of Central Boulevard and spoke briefly. “I’m going to miss you,” I said, feeling the deep sadness so many of us felt as we watched him preach in Kewanee for the last time that morning.

“I’m going to miss you too,” he replied. He carefully waved the cake as he added, “This is my home, and I’ll miss it.”

I don’t remember what else we said, but it was short and bittersweet. United Methodist pastors often are moved after four or five years, and we were blessed to have Bruce for nine. It’s going to feel strange for a while to not see him standing in the pulpit on Sunday.

It’s likely we’ll see Bruce again; after all, he and his family are only about an hour away. And here’s the thing. He’s that kind of friend I told you about, and when we do run into one another again we’ll pick up where we left off. I love that in a friend, no matter where they are.