I wrote the piece below three years ago. Deja vu. I made a similar trip today for a similar reason. I attended the funeral of another dear friend and the trip home took me past the same scenery. I had known Marcus since I was a teenager and asked him to serve as my best man when Frieda and I were married in 1955.
Like my friend Howard, Marcus was born in 1932. Like Howard, Marcus's love and service to the cause of Christ was unwavering and unquestioned. Over the course of his life he was variously a missionary, a preacher, and a teacher. But above that he was a faithful and loving husband to Ruth and a loving and caring father to his children; and above it all he loved his Lord, Jesus the Christ.
As I drove past the little limestone house I wrote about below I was gratified to see that it has been redeemed-- someone with loving care has cleaned the yard of overgrowth, has planted grass and landscaped nicely. The trim has a new coat of paint, there are curtains in the windows, and there were lights on in the domicile!
Another mile and there stands School in a Soybean Field. And it, too, has been redeemed! It is now the home and worship center of Christ Covenant Orthodox Presbyterian Church which apparently serves its community well, for as I drove by I noted at least a dozen cars parked in front, and this a Tuesday afternoon.
Thus here I have touched on three stories of redemption. Marcus, whose Lord redeemed him to service; the old house which someone loved and invested in to bring back to use; and an old schoolhouse which has been rehabilitated by a congregation of worshipers.
These stories make my heart sing, for I, too, have been redeemed!
Marcus Phillippe 1932 - 2021 RIP
A Life Well-lived and A Mystery
I remarked to the grieving widow that Howard no doubt had more friends than anyone else I know for he worked at being a friend. It was no surprise that friendship was a recurring theme of the memories-- that and Howard's unwavering love for Jesus and his desire that his friends would all come to know Him.
On the drive home I chose to take a route which I had driven day after day some six decades ago, for I lived in that town back then and drove twelve miles to work each day. As I passed the little country church, three miles to go to reach the school where I had taught-- I started picturing the lay of the land as I had known it back then. Coming up on the right and a mile before reaching the old school there would be the beautiful Bedford stone house which I had almost coveted in my youth. What more could one want? I thought it the epitome of design in residential structures and it was nearly new, having been built a mere half-dozen years before. Abiding therein was a family who were patrons of the district, prosperous farmers, hard workers, who had two beautiful little flaxen-haired girls who attended our school. Patty was in my homeroom, she as smart and capable and industrious as one might hope a sixth grade child to be.
There it is. Same limestone house, same location. And yet it looks so much smaller than I remembered it, possibly a thousand square feet, probably two bedrooms. But that was not what most startled me. The house was abandoned and clearly had been for some time. The yard was overgrown not only with grass and weeds, but with scrub bushes. Sorry, bedraggled, and forgotten.
There on my left is the cemetery, then School in a Soybean Field apparently also deserted. I drove on, pondering the fate of the inhabitants of the house I had once admired. Why? What happened? Where were those charming little girls now, little girls who would be in their sixties? Things I'll never know. The twists and turns that life takes are often imponderables in the broad scheme of things.
But I still wonder.
Howard Barefoot, 1932 - 2018 RIP
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