When I look back on my life, the very first memory that rises to the surface is church—walking beside my grandfather, hand in hand. He was my beloved grandfather. He meant the world to me.
My grandfather had a hard beginning. He was an orphaned boy from England, sent to this country when he was only six years old. He never saw his mother again. Life did not give him much, but he became a strong and faithful man. He had one child—my father—and I was his oldest grandchild. I thought very highly of him. I still do.
One of my fondest memories is going to church with him when I was very small. That memory has never left me. He died when I was eleven years old, in Monticello. His death was my first deep loss, and even now, many years later, I can still feel it.
I was born in Houlton, but I grew up in Monticello. Church was never optional in our home. My mother made sure of that. Every Sunday, without question, she took us to church and Sunday school. My father came on special occasions—Christmas, Mother’s Day, things like that—but my mother was the steady one. She was a strong Christian woman. She led us. She taught us. She showed us what faith looked like in daily life.
My mother used to say something that stayed with me. She told us boys that no one in this world is perfect. Only Jesus was perfect. But she said, try your best to live by the Ten Commandments. You will never keep them perfectly, but if you try to live by them all your life, you will be okay. That was her wisdom, and I believe she was right.
I had brothers, and we were close. Chip was the youngest, nine years younger than me. Like many baby brothers, he could be a bit of a tease. He would hide behind our mother and stick his tongue out at us. But we loved him. I loved him deeply.
Losing Chip later in life was one of the hardest things I have ever faced. Losing my grandfather was hard. Losing my parents was hard. But losing a younger brother—that was different. That pain stays with you. Every Sunday when I go to church, I miss him. I still do.
As a teenager, church became even more central to my life. I was very involved in MYF (Methodist Youth Fellowship). We had an active group, and we met every Sunday evening. Church was not just something we attended—it was where life happened. We also had big family reunions every summer. My mother came from a family of ten children, so those gatherings were large and lively. That was a tradition I cherished.
I started attending the Methodist Church in Monticello in 1954, when I was in fifth grade. I stayed there until 1989. In that year, I built a new home in Houlton and moved my business there. I have been in Houlton ever since.
At age twenty, I married Sharon. We met in a simple way. A friend of mine and I went bowling in Woodstock. His girlfriend worked as a nurse and suggested bringing along another nurse so the four of us could go together. When she came out of the nurses’ residence, Sharon was with her. I had never seen her before. About a year later, we were married.
Next month, we will celebrate sixty-two years together. I am eighty-two now, and it is hard to believe how fast the years have gone. Sharon and I both came from Christian families. The church has always been central to our marriage. That, I believe, has made all the difference.
Life has not been without challenges. In 1977, when I was thirty-four, I was diagnosed with an eye disease. I had perfect eyesight before that. I drove truck for a living, never had an accident. I could shoot a deer at eighty yards. I could hit a baseball hard. Then I was told my vision would slowly narrow, and there was no cure.
That was hard to accept. The loss was gradual, but it was real. Still, I was thankful that I had such good eyesight to begin with. Even now, what vision I have left is because of that foundation. It was a challenge, but I learned to live with it.
Church life became one of the main ways I lived out my faith. I was not a laid-back lay leader. I was active. I attended meetings. I served wherever I was needed. I preached when ministers were away. I gave what you might call a “state of the church” report each year. I believed the church mattered, and I wanted to serve it well.
Some of my most meaningful memories are simple ones—visiting nursing homes with Pastor Naomi, bringing roses to mothers on Mother’s Day, listening to people, praying with them, showing them they were not forgotten. Those moments mattered.
I have read the Bible many times. My favorite book in the Old Testament is Isaiah. To me, Isaiah connects the Old Testament and the New more clearly than any other book. It points again and again to the coming of Christ. In the New Testament, Luke is my favorite. No one describes the birth and life of Jesus with such detail.
My favorite hymn is Rock of Ages. I cannot fully explain why. It has simply stayed with me. I also love Amazing Grace, especially the last verse—“When we’ve been there ten thousand years.” That verse gives me hope.
Over the years, I worked hard. I started with nothing. I made money. I learned something important along the way: money is not what lasts. It is superficial. You cannot take it with you. What matters is loving God and loving your neighbor. Those two commandments are the heart of life. Helping people matters more than wealth. Building treasures in heaven matters more than anything else.
As I grow older, I sometimes wish I could do more. My eyesight is poor now, and I depend on others for rides. That is not easy. But I have learned that presence still matters. Faithfulness still matters.
My greatest hope for my children and grandchildren is simple—that they stay on track and do not give up the faith. If I could leave them one message, it would be this: Hold on to Christ. Do not let go.
If I am remembered for anything, I hope it is this—that I was thoughtful, and not conceited. I have always disliked conceit. I wrote that in my yearbook as a young man, and I still believe it. Humility matters.
My life has not been perfect. No life is. But I have tried to live by faith, to love God, to love others, and to stay close to the Rock of Ages. That Rock has held me through loss, through change, and through time. And it still does.
My grandfather had a hard beginning. He was an orphaned boy from England, sent to this country when he was only six years old. He never saw his mother again. Life did not give him much, but he became a strong and faithful man. He had one child—my father—and I was his oldest grandchild. I thought very highly of him. I still do.
One of my fondest memories is going to church with him when I was very small. That memory has never left me. He died when I was eleven years old, in Monticello. His death was my first deep loss, and even now, many years later, I can still feel it.
I was born in Houlton, but I grew up in Monticello. Church was never optional in our home. My mother made sure of that. Every Sunday, without question, she took us to church and Sunday school. My father came on special occasions—Christmas, Mother’s Day, things like that—but my mother was the steady one. She was a strong Christian woman. She led us. She taught us. She showed us what faith looked like in daily life.
My mother used to say something that stayed with me. She told us boys that no one in this world is perfect. Only Jesus was perfect. But she said, try your best to live by the Ten Commandments. You will never keep them perfectly, but if you try to live by them all your life, you will be okay. That was her wisdom, and I believe she was right.
I had brothers, and we were close. Chip was the youngest, nine years younger than me. Like many baby brothers, he could be a bit of a tease. He would hide behind our mother and stick his tongue out at us. But we loved him. I loved him deeply.
Losing Chip later in life was one of the hardest things I have ever faced. Losing my grandfather was hard. Losing my parents was hard. But losing a younger brother—that was different. That pain stays with you. Every Sunday when I go to church, I miss him. I still do.
As a teenager, church became even more central to my life. I was very involved in MYF (Methodist Youth Fellowship). We had an active group, and we met every Sunday evening. Church was not just something we attended—it was where life happened. We also had big family reunions every summer. My mother came from a family of ten children, so those gatherings were large and lively. That was a tradition I cherished.
I started attending the Methodist Church in Monticello in 1954, when I was in fifth grade. I stayed there until 1989. In that year, I built a new home in Houlton and moved my business there. I have been in Houlton ever since.
At age twenty, I married Sharon. We met in a simple way. A friend of mine and I went bowling in Woodstock. His girlfriend worked as a nurse and suggested bringing along another nurse so the four of us could go together. When she came out of the nurses’ residence, Sharon was with her. I had never seen her before. About a year later, we were married.
Next month, we will celebrate sixty-two years together. I am eighty-two now, and it is hard to believe how fast the years have gone. Sharon and I both came from Christian families. The church has always been central to our marriage. That, I believe, has made all the difference.
Life has not been without challenges. In 1977, when I was thirty-four, I was diagnosed with an eye disease. I had perfect eyesight before that. I drove truck for a living, never had an accident. I could shoot a deer at eighty yards. I could hit a baseball hard. Then I was told my vision would slowly narrow, and there was no cure.
That was hard to accept. The loss was gradual, but it was real. Still, I was thankful that I had such good eyesight to begin with. Even now, what vision I have left is because of that foundation. It was a challenge, but I learned to live with it.
Church life became one of the main ways I lived out my faith. I was not a laid-back lay leader. I was active. I attended meetings. I served wherever I was needed. I preached when ministers were away. I gave what you might call a “state of the church” report each year. I believed the church mattered, and I wanted to serve it well.
Some of my most meaningful memories are simple ones—visiting nursing homes with Pastor Naomi, bringing roses to mothers on Mother’s Day, listening to people, praying with them, showing them they were not forgotten. Those moments mattered.
I have read the Bible many times. My favorite book in the Old Testament is Isaiah. To me, Isaiah connects the Old Testament and the New more clearly than any other book. It points again and again to the coming of Christ. In the New Testament, Luke is my favorite. No one describes the birth and life of Jesus with such detail.
My favorite hymn is Rock of Ages. I cannot fully explain why. It has simply stayed with me. I also love Amazing Grace, especially the last verse—“When we’ve been there ten thousand years.” That verse gives me hope.
Over the years, I worked hard. I started with nothing. I made money. I learned something important along the way: money is not what lasts. It is superficial. You cannot take it with you. What matters is loving God and loving your neighbor. Those two commandments are the heart of life. Helping people matters more than wealth. Building treasures in heaven matters more than anything else.
As I grow older, I sometimes wish I could do more. My eyesight is poor now, and I depend on others for rides. That is not easy. But I have learned that presence still matters. Faithfulness still matters.
My greatest hope for my children and grandchildren is simple—that they stay on track and do not give up the faith. If I could leave them one message, it would be this: Hold on to Christ. Do not let go.
If I am remembered for anything, I hope it is this—that I was thoughtful, and not conceited. I have always disliked conceit. I wrote that in my yearbook as a young man, and I still believe it. Humility matters.
My life has not been perfect. No life is. But I have tried to live by faith, to love God, to love others, and to stay close to the Rock of Ages. That Rock has held me through loss, through change, and through time. And it still does.
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