As I was finishing our Board of Trustees meeting Monday evening, my cell phone lit up. Belinda was calling. Already in the middle of another call, she was insistent - calling back again and again, which meant something important was up and she needed me to answer. I called her back, and she blurted, 'you need to call Tim Boobar,' stating his wife Kathy had been shot. She knew nothing else. My heart raced to high gear - Kathy, Tim and daughter Carly have been members of ParkwayHills for years, and had just been part of our trip to Israel this past Christmas. One of our finest and more faithful families. I braced myself for what might come and called Tim's cell phone. Sitting in my truck, Carly, Tim's daughter, answered his phone sobbing. I asked, "Carly where are you?" "In McKinney," she said. "Is your Mom OK?" She sobbed deeply, then cried the words I dreaded, "Pastor she's gone." "Mom has been killed." I groaned deeply. Holding back my own shock and pain. "Where are you," I asked. And, as she was giving me the address I turned my truck north toward McKinney, TX. and my next hours, which were to be as horrific as any I had known. Kathy and her sister Karen had been killed by Karen's estranged husband. Two victims of the violence and pain far too familiar in the culture in which we live.Pastor's are not supposed to have favorites, but if I did, Kathy would be on my list. I cannot recall anything from her but kindness. Something true of the entire family. She and Tim had been sweethearts since they were 16. And Carly, their daughter, now a student at TCU, had proven a model child in our youth group and a standout student at her school, Prestonwood Christian Academy. Kathy had served on our church's Finance Team, she and her husband were faithful attenders of both worship and LIFEgroup, and a whole list of other charities and civic notables were supported by her through her work with our Collin County Chapter of Junior League. Kathy was special.
But if you knew Kathy at all - you knew too that she loved her twin sister. They were inseparable. She'd told Tim when they married that she never wanted to live more than 10 minutes from her sister. And... that became so! When the horror occurred Kathy was playing the role she so often played, that of support, as her sister was going through a painful separation from her husband. He had suffered with substance abuse, had recently become erratic, and Karen had decided it was over. The two sisters were together when he came to end Karen's life. No doubt, both pleading one for the other. In ministry, if you are a pastor, you shepherd people. Real people. You lead them, pray with them, love them, and, sometimes... you cry with them. Kathy and Karen's lives were cut short - not by any fault of their own, but by the brokenness of our world. They loved each other deeply. Coming into this world together, they left the land of dying and entered the land of the living together, as well. For a while - a long while - we will reflect on the horrific nature of how their lives ended. But eventually, even for the family, thoughts will turn otherwise. They will be remembered for who they were, what they gave, how they loved and how they lived. And, for we who are in Christ, we who know the truth, the gospel will become ever more real. For we know that Jesus received them to Himself. Their Savior - the One whom both girls had placed their trust in - welcomed them home. John 14, 1st Corinthians 15, and our entire record of God's Word promises this.
So I told the young reporter from Channel 5, Meredith, when asked - 'what do you tell people in times like this?" "I remind them of the gospel, Meredith" - "that Jesus loves them, and that, if we know Christ ourselves, we will see them both again." "And, then... sometimes I cry. For pastor's cry, too."
Love,
Pastor Sam
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