My senior year of college, I preached for a little church in Waller, TX, about 50 miles south of College Station. From September of ‘96 to August of ‘97, Melissa and I drove out there every Sunday and stayed the afternoon with my cousins, Larry and Terre Koenig. Larry’s parents, Laurence and Jean, would usually have us over for lunch after morning services. Sister Jean would fill the table with roast and potatoes, all kinds of vegetables that they grew in their garden, and something sweet for dessert. Without fail, after every meal, Brother Laurence would lean back in his chair, put his hands on his full stomach, and say with his special smile, “that was so good, I wish we were just startin’.”

Laurence Koenig died Wednesday night. He lost his battle with cancer. When we heard that he was going down fast, Melissa and I rushed to the hospital in Bellville to see him before he passed on. We didn’t make it. As we stood by his bed, clutching the body that was now separated from his spirit, I reflected on some of life’s lessons that I learned from Laurence.

He helped me learn to appreciate the little things. Laurence was pure country (as if there is anything else in Hempstead). He retired from John Deere, lived on a farm, wore cowboy boots, drove an old pickup truck, and had a good dog. After lunch, He would take me out back, talk to his horses, tell a few jokes, show me his greenhouse, and pick some fresh flowers for “Miss Jean.” He didn’t have much, but he didn’t want much. In fact, money couldn’t have bought what he had. It couldn’t purchase his love for his family, for his life, and for his Lord; it wasn’t what made his marriage work; it didn’t have anything to do with his right relationship with God. And no sum of dollars could ever obtain the amount of happiness and joy that he found in life’s simplest pleasures. “If we have food and covering, with these we shall be content” said Paul to Timothy (). That’s the way Laurence felt about it, too.

He taught me that everyone can be someone in the kingdom. Several years ago, Laurence had part of a lung removed, a surgery that left him short-winded, sometimes gasping for air. But he never used that as an excuse. Part of his Sunday morning routine was to sweep the porch and sidewalk at the church building before Bible class. He would always stop sweeping to greet everyone, usually calling Melissa either Jennifer or Elizabeth. Since it was Laurence, Melissa didn’t mind. And services were not dismissed until Laurence said, “shake hands and be friendly” after the closing prayer. On singing nights, though he could barely get through a song, he would do his part and lead “I’ll Fly Away” or “Where the Roses Never Fade.” How appropriate! I can’t wait to hear him sing with his new voice, when the Lord will transform the body of his humble state into conformity with the body of His glory ().

He showed me that a man’s stature is measured by the height of his character. Laurence Koenig was a tall man. He towered over me and tall people, too. But he stood head and shoulders above the rest with regard to his spiritual size. The phrase I heard most often the days after he died was, “he’s in a better place.” And that’s right. He’s in a better place because he couldn’t have been a better man. He believed in the old saying, “if you live wrong, you can’t die right.” He numbered his days (), making every one of them count, even his last one. Some of his final words to his family were those of admonition and exhortation to keep close to God and His word. We had all seen him do nothing less. That made it easy to look up to Laurence.

“Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on…that they may rest from their labors, for their deeds follow with them” (). It has been my honor and privilege to know him and love him. For selfish reasons, I wish we were just startin’.