The writer of Wisdom tells us that to everything there is a season – a time to laugh, and a time to cry; a time to gather, a time to scatter; a time to be young, a time to grow old. This weekend we celebrate the 100th birthday of the remarkable Esther Summers, matriarch of the Gutshall descendants, gathered from far and near in the family home of Adrian. We gather in joy and feast on this rare occasion, surrounded by the spirits of Emery and Clyde and Ruth and John, and of Marie and Jim and Edwin, who will surely look down with favor from on high. And we pray God’s blessings on the quiet saint, one who was born under the administration of President Taft, lived through the sorrows of the Great Depression, taught school and served others, married a World War II veteran, and taught me how to cook, among other notable successes.
May the rest of Esther’s days be rich indeed, and may we all grow old with this same measure of grace.