As I write, what must be a long and wonderful celebration of a godly man's life is coming to an end. His funeral is today. On Sunday I received word that my friend Wendell Kempton had gone to heaven. Melanoma recently grabbed him by the throat and took his life in full stride in his mid seventies.

All of us who follow Jesus are a product of the grace of God and the person of Christ and the people we get to know and the providence He takes us through. One man who influenced me significantly was Dr. Wendell Kempton. His life touched mine and I live in his debt.

Coach Callan introduced me to him when I was a cager at Cedarville. He would come and speak to our basketball team and hang out with us when he was on campus. I can still hear his passion in my soul and it resonates as I write. Wendell never recovered from God's love that laid hold of him. He loved basketball. His old basketball coach at BBC (Mead Armstrong) was living out his twilight years in my days there and coming to our games. His teammate at BBC, Stan Ballard, was on the faculty. One of my favorite stories of Dr. Kempton is the one told by Stan concerning a trip home from BBC in a car in need of repair. They broke down. Stan and Wendell got out. As I remember the story, they lifted the hood, made a quick inspection and Wendell suggested they pray. They closed the hood, started the car and kept going. Wendell had laid his hands on the car and prayed. What Stan did not know was that that was a portent of what Wendell would do the rest of his life...lay his hands on people and invoke the Lord's blessing and watch God do wonders.

He was a regular part of the speakers group that would share the Word of God during mission focus weeks. That made sense. He was the president of A.B.W.E. (Association of Baptist for World Evangelism) for 30 years ('71-'01). What a distinguished run he had of shepherding that organization along. He was Uncle Wendell to all of the MK's and a father to all of the missionaries. I have been with him at field council meetings. He loved his own and his friends.

His dear wife Carolyn, the mother of his children went home to be with the Lord suddenly with a brain aneurysm at what I remember as 42 years old. I never met her. He spoke often of her in those years.

In the Spring of 1981 I was invited to speak at his buddy's church (Dan Gelatt) in Elkhart, Indiana. Wendell brought Doug Collins (of Olympic and Philly 76ers NBA basketball fame). Wendell had ministered to Doug in his network in Philly (and to Bob Boone, Mike Schmidt, Dr. J. and Joe Gibbs...all of whom spoke this afternoon at the funeral). We sat in the Gelatt's living room and talked about basketball in the NBA. Doug told us about Hondo's (Havlicek) phenomenal stamina and Red Auerbach's tactics in the opposing locker room at the garden (bolted the windows shut from the inside...and turned the heat up). It was a delightful visit for a good basketball player want-to-be. The chagrin came onto the faces of the kids we ministered to on Sunday of that weekend. "Wow, Doug Collins...but who is that other guy?" was the response as we went room to room. I have a picture somewhere that the church published that weekend with our pictures on each side. It was Babe Ruth walking around with an Enon Little League farm teamer...all over again. What a fun weekend!

I ran into his son, Stan, at seminary. Chip off of the block. Smart, well groomed, winsome and engaging. Stan is an able brother. I got to know Mark when he was at Cedarville in the college-coaching loop with Coach Callan.

We stayed in touch through the years and I would see Doctor Kempton at various conferences. He came down to Dallas for a week while I was in Seminary. In his company everyone felt like a dear friend. You were his focus.

When he announced his retirement he began to take a few trips saying good bye to missionaries, many of whom were there because of decisions they had made about their future while listening to that Dallas Seminary grad preach the gospel and call people to service. I was invited to join his swing through Brazil for two weeks. I remember the year as 2001. At Southgate we had just sent a team down to build a little housing unit for a camp in Recife. I joined our team and then met up with the good bye tour and Dave and Ev Southwell (some of the best company you'll ever share abroad) for two weeks. I will never forget those days. I was with Dr. Kempton there when he received the news of a martyred ABWE missionary in Togo. I got to know Ruth Royer Kempton on that trip. God gave him one classy wonderful gal with whom to finish life. She is a gem. She is lovely and realistic and down to earth and has a heart that beats for Christ like few others. She was perfect for him. Coming home in business class (thanks Dave Southwell, I owe you buddy) I observed an episode of Dr. Kempton rifling through his garments and baggage in a desperate search for his passport, apparently a regular discipline he engaged in (as I picked up from the exasperated looks on Ruth's face). She could handle him very well. After quite an archaeological dig, the passport was unearthed. Ruth rolled her eyes and Wendell asked that I always keep that a secret and I was not to tell...does not that kind of a bond expire when a guy goes home to glory? We sat under Cashew Trees in Recife waiting out an afternoon ride and talked all afternoon. The breeze was as pleasant as the conversation. We were remembering old basketball games he had come to at Cedarville. One night he walked in as the game was starting and I was unconscious. Mount Vernon was in a zone and I could not get the ball enough. I had a big night. It felt better...in front of him...respect and admiration does those kinds of things to you.

At his retirement gala when everybody was wanting a piece of him, he left the security entourage (or so it seemed) and the big important people group and came to greet Andi and me. He took time. That was Wendell. Those times and times and half a times with him shaped my life. I will always be grateful.

I will miss his company that I shared infrequently but always affectionately. His memory stirs my resolve to go on for Christ. When you head toward fifty your mentors start to go on before you. I hate that. I feel like those giants are so much more the men of God than I am. I stand on their shoulders, call them, seek their company and counsel and find strength to go on. Wendell is gone. His work is done. I am one of a whole ton of people who will miss his company. I am grateful to God for letting me know him and to Don Callan for introducing me.

Someone has said, "It is a privilege for a pious man to die." God made Wendell pious and that privilege was his on our Lord's day this past week (that day we remember the first day of that first Easter week).

Thank you God for the gift Wendell Kempton was to so many. Thanks for including me in that crowd. Thank you for our hope in Christ- to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord.