This morning, as part of our “home centered, church supported” worship, we listened to the Tabernacle Choir at Temple Square sing a touching rendition of the hymn “Softly and Tenderly Jesus Is Calling.” The refrain “ Come Home! Come Home!” always touches my soul. The words take me back thirty-six years to a scene at my brother-in-law’s grave side. It was a beautiful spring day in early June 1984 when a dear friend sang that hymn a cappella as we stood mourning the loss of our beloved Kent. Born with a chronic blood disease, he had overcome a host of challenges in his quarter-century of life. Only weeks before, life seemed to hold special promises for him. He had married the girl of his dreams months earlier and was studying pre-med to become a doctor. He wanted to help others as he himself had been helped in countless emergency room visits and hospital stays. AIDS was raging across the country and around the world, and he was so grateful that none of his weekly blood transfusions had been infected with the virus.

Yes, things seemed to be looking up. Then one afternoon his newlywed wife came home and found him passed out. The EMT crew and doctors at the hospital worked hard to revive him, but he had departed for his heavenly home without even saying good-bye. Not yet twenty-five, he was gone, leaving behind a young widow, grieving family members, and a veritable army of friends. Hundreds attended the funeral in the college town where he died, and a thousand were present for the memorial service in his hometown. One high school friend, whom he had befriended years earlier on the school bus for handicapped students, composed a special song, “See You at the Reunion.” Kent’s tombstone reads simply “A FRIEND TO ALL,” and what a friend he was. On the school bus, in hospital corridors, on a mission cut short when he was severely beaten by thugs, in the classroom, in his apartment complex, in church, in nature—he was always “a friend to all.” He cultivated what I call “a listening ear,” and he loved to give and receive hugs. Although often confined to a wheelchair because of bleeding and swelling in his joints, he loved to dress up and attend dances.

Kent had responded to the call:

“Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling — Calling for you and for me;

Patiently Jesus is waiting and watching — Watching for you and for me!

Come home! come home! Ye who are weary, come home!

Earnestly, tenderly, Jesus is calling, Calling, O sinner, come home!”

Now I had a choice: continue to withdraw and mourn his departure or find a way outside of my comfort zone to try and make a difference in the lives of others. Although I considered myself reasonably out-going, I paled in comparison to my late brother-in-law’s extroverted personality. He consciously went about introducing himself and asking strangers their name. He loved to hear their stories and was not embarrassed to explain why he was on crutches or in a wheelchair. He specialized in making people feel comfortable around him. I asked myself, “What is Jesus pleading for me to do right now, while I’m still alive and able-bodied?”

“Why should we tarry when Jesus is pleading — Pleading for you and for me?

Why should we linger and heed not His mercies — Mercies for you and for me?

Time is now fleeting, the moments are passing — Passing from you and from me;

Shadows are gathering, death-beds are coming — Coming for you and for me!”

After prayerful consideration, I made up my mind that I would find a way to do what seemed impossible for someone making about $20,000/year:  fully endow a scholarship for handicapped students in his memory. Several people had made small donations when they learned of his passing. I would add to those as I was able. And so, as my professor’s salary grew, I increased my monthly donations. In the early years, the monthly amounts were embarrassingly modest. Unfortunately, the bar for how much was needed to endow a scholarship at Kent’s university kept rising as the years passsed, and I often felt as though I would never reach the ever-changing magic amount to secure the endowment. It took, in fact, over ten years of monthly paycheck deductions. But once the scholarship was endowed and monies began to be disbursed to students in need, I realized that the results were worth the wait as I read letters from grateful recipients.

Although I am hesitant to share excerpts of student letters, I do so not out of any self-aggrandizing wish but out of a desire to express gratitude for my brother-in-law’s example that inspired me to give what I could. From this experience I have learned that small acts of goodness that accumulate over time can lead to major blessings for others.

From a scholarship recipient named Josh: “Life hasn’t been all roses. . . . I was hit with severe depression and anxiety that made [life] extremely difficult. . . . I continue to work through those issues today, but have made leaps and bounds in the right direction. I have been able to keep a 3.97 GPA at college despite these challenges and I consider myself extremely blessed because of it. I give thinks to God regularly for His obvious hand in all aspect of my life. . . . I know the Lord is in control and I know I am doing my part so I am not stressed. . . . I am so grateful for your support of my dreams as I put all my heart into my university studies. I am touched by your generosity and hope to be able to pay it forward in some way, perhaps many ways. Education is not available to everyone. I recognize this and am filled with gratitude for those who help me get mine. I feel extremely blessed. Thank you so much for all that you do. I promise I shall not squander the help you have given.”

From Rosa: “Coming from a single-parent home where my mom had to work as ‘father’ and the little parenting I got I received from in-and-out-again sisters, I value mothering higher than almost anything else. Through my own children, adoption, or students [she plans to become a teacher], I hope I can pass a legacy of divine mothering to others in need. I am incredibly grateful for this gift. As a third generational student with no graduates, I hope to finally complete my legacy by being the first graduate in my family. My parents and grandparents met and fell in love here, yet struggled with grades and extracurricular [activities] until they flunked or dropped out. I, with this academic scholarship, stand on their shoulders as I struggle to finish my degree. Thank you so much. Thank you so very much for helping my dream come true. I consider myself lucky just to go here, but this scholarship allows me to stay and convinces me I belong.”

I am grateful for my brother-in-law’s legacy of being “a friend to all.”  Even though I am now in self-isolation due to the COVID pandemic, I am trying to find ways to reach out and bless the lives of others.  It’s what Kent did, even when he was confined to a hospital bed. In times like these, there are words that I find even more motivational than the words of grateful scholarship recipients. I refer to the words of the hymn “Softly and Tenderly” that tell of the love and promise that the Lord offers if we turn to him:

“Oh, for the wonderful love He has promised —  Promised for you and for me!

Though we have sinned, He has mercy and pardon — Pardon for you and for me!”

On this Sabbath Day my prayer is that “He has mercy and pardon” not just for my sins of commission but also for my sins of omission—the times when I could have done good for someone but let the opportunity pass me by. With this blog post I am resolving to do what I can, for however long this self-isolation lasts and before I, too, am “called home,” to find lives to bless and then to bless them. If you have ideas for how to bless lives while maintaining “social distancing,” please feel free to share them.