And what will I say: Two local pastors went into a ....

I spent three days in Shreveport recently at the "convention" we United Methodists call Annual Conference, a Wesleyan thing that simply means we come together to do business.

There are many elements of this conferencing over the long three days, but perhaps my favorite is the time we allow (five minutes, I believe) the ones who are retiring to speak to the conference. It seems my viewing of these things the past 14 years or so has led to me dividing them into the funny or the poignant or a combination thereof.

Immediately after hearing from one distinguished gentleman who was hilarious, a friend asked me what I thought I would say when it was my time.

I've given that a lot of thought since. At first, I thought I would give a litany of things I'm sorry I didn't do or didn't do better. That's my half-empty self. You know, I didn't building up churches the way I sincerely wanted to, I certainly didn't do as much visitation as everyone and their brother wanted, and I didn't make disciples like I planned. Just didn't. Never heard anyone apologize for not doing his job as well as he would have liked or as well as Christ would have liked.

But as I continued thinking about it (eight years of thinking about it will give me five minutes of speech I reckon), I decided all that was wrong. True, but wrong.

I've had a wonderful life. Because of Mary, my wife, whose birthday it is today. I hit a wall at the age of 42, slid down like a cartoon character, and wound up here, in Eunice, La., as a pastor. Never planned it, never really wanted it. Shocked it is what it is. But I'm so grateful that Mary was with me every step of the way.

Brandon Heath sings, "I wished I could show you how I'm not who I was." And that goes for tons and tons of friends I no longer see but were steps along the path to Eunice (and beyond). But the one constant, beyond kids and grand kids and numerous pets and rescues, was Mary.

She helped Jesus heal me. She bandaged me. She loved me when I was pretty unlovable. Oh, I was perfectly capable and perfectly functioning, but I was unlovable.

She has taken all my badness and set it aside for the goodness she believed existed buried down inside. She has given me grace, as did my Lord and Savior, but hers was a human-based grace, which I believe is even harder to understand or believe.

Without her, there is no retirement, no future, no old age. We will probably be without money, without a paid for house to retire to, but we will, I believe, never not have each other.

That's a gift that can never be repaid so I won't try.

And that's what I think I will say.