Long ago in a galaxy far, far away, before the term “social distancing” had been invented, when people in masks robbed banks, when the year looked like a countdown instead of an eye chart, I wrote about our church’s twentieth anniversary, and specifically about the man who welcomed us when we started going there.
His name was Loyd Sawyers, and I wrapped up by saying:
Every church should be full of people who refuse to allow visitors to escape without being seen, and heard, and loved. And they should be led, literally or figuratively, by a Loyd.
But you have to get your own. We’re keeping ours.
We didn’t get to keep him long. The Lord called Loyd home this morning, another result of Covid, and while he’ll get to spend eternity greeting new people, it’s two loved ones who recently preceded him he’s probably seeking out first: his wife and mom.
There’s really nothing else to say. Or, there probably is, but I’m in no condition to say it.
We love you, Loyd.