Dear Jim & Louise

I have no idea where you are these days, but judging from your age when I was seven years old, I'm going to guess that you are most likely resting, waiting for our Lord to return to take us home. Regardless, I thought of you this morning and must write you a thank you note.

The first church I remember attending was Claremont. (Now that I think about it, I'm not sure why that city is named that...are there really mountains down there? And, seeing as how it's Southern California, is it really going to be a CLEAR mountain?) There were many people there who left an indelible impression on me - Pastor Ted, Dave and Liz, Chrissy, Michael, Bonnie...and others whose names escape me after so many years. But something was different about you two, and I really don't know what.

I remember your little brown car, and how you always parked at the corner of the wall in the shade of the Eucalyptus trees in the church parking lot. I actually have no memories of you inside the church; only in your car in the large parking lot. And all of my memories include watermelon.

Who brought that melon to potluck every time? Pastor and Margie? I don't know. But whoever did it, it was a known tradition that is probably still maintained to this day. Well, maybe.

Another thing I wonder is this: Why did you two never eat inside with everyone else? Why did you always bring your lunches in little brown paper sacks and sit in your little brown Toyota in the shade with the windows rolled down? Why didn't you at least sit on the grass? Maybe my parents know the reason, but I never did. And as a kid, I never questioned it, either. That's just the way it was.

And "the way it was" included Melanie and I bringing you watermelon every potluck. While you ate your sandwiches in the car all by yourselves, we finished our potluck plates and filled another plate with slices of juicy, dripping watermelon, and ran out to your car to bring it to you. Then we'd sit on the curb and talk to you while you ate.

We felt so special, like important messengers, bringing you that melon. You always smiled so sweet and asked us questions, acting as though our lives were the most important things in the world right then. I'll never forget that.

Thank you for making some little girls feel very loved, special and important.

See you soon,
Becky