One afternoon in November 1997, I was finishing my run for the day and as I came around the back of Goshen Hospital, I met Dr. Liz Gingrich. That is not unusual as she regularly visits patients at the hospital. This particular day she looked concerned and asked me to pray for her husband, Keith, who was having some tests. Indeed she did have reason to be concerned. He was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and was given two to four months to live.

 At that time Keith was 56 years old, a husband and father of four, ages 10 to 14. He spent many years serving with Mennonite Central Committee in Nigeria and the Sudan, and with Lutheran World Relief in India. Keith's heart for mission and service challenged us all at Waterford [Mennonite Church]; his brief vignettes from around the world during sharing time kept the pain and hopes of the oppressed before us. A gentle, deep voice and full gray beard landed him the role of God in more than one worship drama.

 But now death was knocking at his door. With his characteristic calmness, he greeted this visitor. With deliberateness he began to read about his illness. They explored a variety of therapies before settling on a specific treatment plan. While praying and hoping for healing, he also began to work on his funeral plans. In February 1998, he and Liz came by one day with funeral plans in hand. There was really very little for us pastors to do but carry out his wishes. He, in fact, contacted all participants, even telling them how much time they would have in the service.

 During the spring and summer he experienced a miraculous remission and was able to take a train trip with his family. While hoping for full healing, he continued to make plans for his death. He made tapes for each of his children; he told me with sadness not long before his death that he didn't get one made for Liz.

 With the coming of fall it became apparent that his condition was worsening. Earlier he had asked his small group to make his casket. Now it seemed the time to begin had come. They worked on it as a group, and even Keith was able to do a bit, but mostly he sat in the rocking chair and watched. He came to refer to the casket as his "friend."

 Keith and Liz taught us much about facing death with both faith and acceptance. We all prayed and hoped God would heal. Yet I never felt that Keith was clinging to life. He died with the same grace and acceptance with which he lived life.