I am headed to Perryville this morning for the funeral mass of Betty Prost. It will be a small funeral, I am certain, she was ninety years old but I want to be there. Not for her, not for her family who I don't know, but for me. She was a constant encourager to me when I was at SEMo or working at Perryville. I knew that she would tell me how valuable I was to the University, how important I was to all the alums and friends, and how I, alone, made a difference. I did not ponder her veracity; I knew she meant every word and that made a difference to me. If she felt that way, maybe others did too. Maybe I was worth something in the building of something.
Betty Prost was my Barnabas along the way. Barnabas came out the Biblical shadows and stood up for Saul, later Paul, when all the other "solids" were leery of embracing him thinking he was setting them up for a fall or a beheading. Later, when Paul and Mark fell out, Barnabas put the pieces of Mark back together and Mark wrote his beloved Gospel. When he had served for seasons, Barnabas went back into his shadows with a new name: Barnabas the Encourager.
Thanks, Betty, for being my Barnabas. I will be there for you, out of the shadows, this morning.
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