Thirty-Four

Millard Porter was a quiet, unassuming man I knew when I lived in Edison, New Jersey, now forty years ago. He was a good man, and exuded kindness. When I knew him he was married to Signe, his second wife, the widow of a friend I woul assumesince the two couples are now buried on either side of the same grav marker, sharing the same stone. Signe Porter, as I knew her, was every bit as gracious as Millard.

The Porters loved to serve. She served me tea and goat's milk cheese on fine china when I visited thier small house. He served by cleaning the church and doing whatever task he could find to help. In earlier times Millard had been a strong leader and founder of the Edison Church of the Nazarene. Long story.

But I rememer Millard Porter for the way he died. Very weak, unable to speakm really, he lay in an eight-bed ward in a hospital in New Brunswick, New Jersey. Life was flickering away and there were no visible supporters surrounding that hospital bed, just his pastor, although I am pretty sure there were angels. I saw his mounth moving. I knew Millard Porter was trying to tell me something. I bent over to listen. Millard Porter was whispering. "Thirty-four. Thirty-four."

To this day it moves me to think of the word Millard Porter left behind as he was dying. I want to live that way, too. I'm certainly not eager to die just yet, but when it comes I want to die that way as well. I'm so vey glad I knew Millard Porter's favorite Psalm, so I know what he was saying that day in the eight-bed ward in the New Brunswick hospital. "I will bless the Lord at all times. His praise shall continually be in my mouth!" (Psalm 34:1)