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Pastor Wallace was loved by many, many people. He had come to a rural, agricultural area and stayed for 41 years. He and his wife Bea had four children, three of whom would become pastors themselves. The fourth was a missionary teacher in Madagascar. Pastor Wallace's second and last call was to another rural church he started only thirty miles away. He stayed fifteen years. His reputation was tough but fair; disciplined but compassionate; strong but just.

Pastor Wally, as he was known, knew his time on earth was short. He was suffering from lung cancer and he wanted to say good--bye. But how does one say good--bye to old friends? Pastor Wally asked that a worship service be held the coming fall to celebrate the harvest and his eightieth birthday. Plans were being made; it was to be held at his first church.

Pastor Wally was excited. But he was also getting weaker and weaker. It was two months before the service, and he wanted it to be a success. He called his granddaughter, a pastor almost 200 miles away, to help him write the service. Could two of his sons also come and help him? The four collaborated about the litany, focusing on the harvest and the change of seasons from living, yielding crops, to the earth becoming quiet, dormant, and restful. They wrote a poem about being eighty - not so old, yet not so young either. They wrote the outline for the bulletin together.

Several church members helped get the church ready: the gutters needed to be straightened, the furnace cleaned and readied for the winter, and the front steps needed to be redone. The crack in the wall behind the altar could be fixed and the vestry needed to be cleaned out. There was great anticipation in the air. It was as if they were preparing for a festival.

Women got out scrapbooks and church records. They would make up a little play about notable events when Pastor Wally was their pastor. Like the time he arrived at the church an hour late when he forgot to set his clock. The people had waited patiently but the potluck dinner looked a little limp. They recalled the Sunday when his youngest son had let their new puppy into the church basement during an ice storm and afterward the frightened little dog wouldn't come out from under the basement steps.

There were many great memories. Pastor Wally had been with them through a flood, several tornadoes, deaths, births, baptisms, confirmations, and weddings. He had held their hands when people succumbed to illness, were torn with addictions, and made moves. He was their friend, their pastor, their confidante.

The time got closer and wheat bundles, corn stalks, pumpkins, squash, Indian corn, and other vegetables were arranged at the base of the altar. A banner was made decorated with leaves in red, yellow, gold, and orange falling downward. The pews were oiled and the rugs shampooed. They were ready.

It was a wonderful worship service. The organist was glowing as she played a special number. The litany went well, but his daughter had to lead it: Pastor Wally was just too weak. One grandson sang "How Great Thou Art," and a son read a poem about life as a "PK." It was hilarious. The synod bishop, who had been a classmate with Pastor Wally at seminary, gave the sermon. Finally, it was time for Pastor Wally to give the prayers. He stood up slowly. With great difficulty, he walked to the lectern and said a prayer, giving thanks to God for good memories, good friends, and good times. He thanked God for the guidance he had received as a young pastor, the strong support from his loving wife, for the vision his mentor had when Wally first came to the prairie, and for the opportunity to stay so long among the people. He was truly grateful for the many blessings he had. He encouraged the people in his prayer to continue praying for one another and to pray for their church leaders. "Prayer," he said, "is the most effective part of being a Christian. You can pray for people you know or don't know. You can lift people up even when you can't do anything else for them. It is what has sustained me over all these years."

Pastor Wally asked the people to stand and he raised his hands. "And now may the Lord bless you and keep you, my good friends. May the Lord make his face shine radiantly upon you and be gracious to you as you have been gracious to me. The Lord look upon you with favor and give you a peace that passes all understanding deep within your hearts. Go in peace and serve the Lord!"

The closing hymn sounded a little quieter than usual as people sniffed quietly and choked back tears. They knew Pastor Wally was tired and very ill: he was going to be missed. It had taken a tremendous amount of energy, but Pastor Wally had given the church two very important gifts: a prayer and a blessing. And a chance to say good--bye.