by Linda Veath
A shadow of a man running past my front window caught my eye, and I quickly realized it was the pastor who lived next door. I arrived at the door at the same time he did.
“We need your help,” he said and then abruptly turned around. I followed, worried that it could be his wife or an accident. As we turned toward the field between our houses, he shouted. “It’s my fault. I let her get away.”
What?
Oh… He was talking about their Goldendoodle, one very soft and cuddly escape-artist, Houdini dog, as I like to call her. Apparently, she had escaped again, and they wanted my help because, for some reason, Cinnamon loves me.
It took only two VERY loud “Cinn-a-MONNNNNs,” and I saw the dog flying through the grass to get to me. Once we had her leashed, I received a barrage of thank you’s from the pastor and his daughter.
I felt good as I headed back home, happy that I had helped the pastor, the man (and his family) who have helped me so many times. It was a simple act, but it was a reminder of how much we owe our pastors. In an uncertain world, they proclaim God’s reassuring message to us — the message about God’s Son, who died on the cross for our sins — through their sermons and many acts of kindness.
My pastor neighbor is retiring this year, and I hate to see him and his family leave the area. I will always remember their kindness to me — and the fun times I had chasing Cinnamon.
Godspeed, my friends, as you continue to serve the Lord in retirement.