A good bishop
The world is a little emptier right now, a dear, dear man has left this life after a valiant and love-filled mortal journey. He graduates with highest honors.
Dennis Martin was the bishop of our ward when we first moved to Tacoma. We were part of an influx of young families; we have seen that pattern repeat itself periodically over the years. Most have had kids--or additional kids--and moved on somewhere else. We are the only ones still here from our 'wave' of arrivals.
Over these years, we have seen people step up to the plate and give love, help, and service in a setting where the tally of need overwhelms the numbers of active, committed Saints. We have seen some flee, looking for their first passage out, rather than take a deep breath and prayer and go to work, and others put down deep spiritual roots. We arrived with two very small daughters, six months old and 2 1/2, and then had a third. I was called to do music for Primary and Relief Society (before the consolidated schedule), and to be the sewing teacher for homemaking meeting. When an evening homemaking meeting for Relief Society was started, I said that I could do that too; it would require a whole separate preparation, so the next Sunday I passed the bishop in the hall and said, "This essentially makes four callings now--is this enough? Am I done?" He just grinned and replied, "Whatever the Lord directs!"
We became friends with two other couples who were already close to the Martins, and we would all get together sometimes; we were at our house once to play some card game, and Dennis asked with innocent sweetness if he had to be the bishop tonight, and I told him no, tonight you're just Dennis, we're all friends--whereupon he executed some cutthroat move and said, well, the bishop probably wouldn't be mean and do that, but you said I wasn't the bishop tonight. We were skunked.
We were soon put to work in the ward, and offered our heartfelt efforts until we were tumbled ourselves into profound crisis and became part of Bishop Martin's counseling burdens. He made himself available and wore himself out in prayer over us and for us, and became our home teacher after he was released. He kept up with us from time to time after they moved away and then back to a different area of the city. Two years ago there was a multi-stake arts festival and we were set up next to each other in the gym, me with a notebook of my poems, Dennis with a display table of his bonsai trees. I enjoyed the chance to visit as people meandered around, taking in the displays.
Dennis had a major stroke 11 years ago, while still in his 50's. He struggled to recover, and was greatly curtailed in his physical abilities and stamina. Despite that, he served in every way he could; he and Kay fulfilled their last assignment to speak out at Anderson Island last Sunday, this despite the fact that he had fallen for the third time in three days that morning, and had cracked a couple of ribs in the first fall. Taken to the hospital on Thursday, when further signs of trouble were alarming, showed that he had ruptured his spleen in one of these falls, and he pulled through emergency surgery only to die soon after. He was a runner before his stroke, and Kay says she is glad he can run free now. He is finally whole again.
He can say with Paul, I have fought the good fight, I have finished the course, I have kept the faith. A good bishop and a beloved friend. His impact on our lives was huge, and his memory strengthens us.
Dennis Martin was the bishop of our ward when we first moved to Tacoma. We were part of an influx of young families; we have seen that pattern repeat itself periodically over the years. Most have had kids--or additional kids--and moved on somewhere else. We are the only ones still here from our 'wave' of arrivals.
Over these years, we have seen people step up to the plate and give love, help, and service in a setting where the tally of need overwhelms the numbers of active, committed Saints. We have seen some flee, looking for their first passage out, rather than take a deep breath and prayer and go to work, and others put down deep spiritual roots. We arrived with two very small daughters, six months old and 2 1/2, and then had a third. I was called to do music for Primary and Relief Society (before the consolidated schedule), and to be the sewing teacher for homemaking meeting. When an evening homemaking meeting for Relief Society was started, I said that I could do that too; it would require a whole separate preparation, so the next Sunday I passed the bishop in the hall and said, "This essentially makes four callings now--is this enough? Am I done?" He just grinned and replied, "Whatever the Lord directs!"
We became friends with two other couples who were already close to the Martins, and we would all get together sometimes; we were at our house once to play some card game, and Dennis asked with innocent sweetness if he had to be the bishop tonight, and I told him no, tonight you're just Dennis, we're all friends--whereupon he executed some cutthroat move and said, well, the bishop probably wouldn't be mean and do that, but you said I wasn't the bishop tonight. We were skunked.
We were soon put to work in the ward, and offered our heartfelt efforts until we were tumbled ourselves into profound crisis and became part of Bishop Martin's counseling burdens. He made himself available and wore himself out in prayer over us and for us, and became our home teacher after he was released. He kept up with us from time to time after they moved away and then back to a different area of the city. Two years ago there was a multi-stake arts festival and we were set up next to each other in the gym, me with a notebook of my poems, Dennis with a display table of his bonsai trees. I enjoyed the chance to visit as people meandered around, taking in the displays.
Dennis had a major stroke 11 years ago, while still in his 50's. He struggled to recover, and was greatly curtailed in his physical abilities and stamina. Despite that, he served in every way he could; he and Kay fulfilled their last assignment to speak out at Anderson Island last Sunday, this despite the fact that he had fallen for the third time in three days that morning, and had cracked a couple of ribs in the first fall. Taken to the hospital on Thursday, when further signs of trouble were alarming, showed that he had ruptured his spleen in one of these falls, and he pulled through emergency surgery only to die soon after. He was a runner before his stroke, and Kay says she is glad he can run free now. He is finally whole again.
He can say with Paul, I have fought the good fight, I have finished the course, I have kept the faith. A good bishop and a beloved friend. His impact on our lives was huge, and his memory strengthens us.
Oh, so sad when such a wonderful being leaves us! But now I would think he has a higher calling.
ReplyDeleteBut it's so hard to say goodbye when they go.
ReplyDelete