I first met him in 1993 when he and Dottie visited the church, which was still meeting in Brinker Elementary School. Perhaps it was after they'd heard me preach and learned of our new mission through my time of interim pulpit supply at First Baptist Church of Lewisville, Texas. Or, perhaps it was through Frank's work with the Texas Baptist Missions Foundation -a strategic partner with us - or through other friends at the BGCT (Now Texas Baptist). Or likely because his daughter, Laura Denton Hill, was attending seminary with me and learned of our mission and encouraged them to attend. Either way, when he and Dottie walked in - the oldest couple ever to visit who were not also someone's parents or grands - we wondered and were curious. Then came my follow up visit in their home. There he and Dottie were perfect. Genuinely interested. I kept asking about them and he kept asking about the church. Dottie sat quietly, but with a wry and knowing smile (which I later learned was her pose anytime Frank spoke) and Frank - well, he was abuzz wanting to hear all about our story, desire and vision to plant a community church in this burgeoning, fast-growing area of newly formed West Plano. And so they came. Again and again. And before long Frank and Dottie Denton joined bringing a world of experience, wisdom and more - bringing kindness, grace and the soft wielding way of love. In the early days of our first building Frank was busy, often supplying at pulpits across Texas where he would tell the Cooperative Program Giving story at any setting he might. As well, Frank was representing the Baptist Mission Foundation - an organization responsible for so much of what we have been able to do as Texas Baptists. For far more than most will ever know, it has been the means whereby Texas Churches like ParkwayHills are in existence today. Through the gifts of faithful people across this state - most of whom would never want others to know of their ways - churches have been begun and causes have been supported that have reached thousands of people with the gospel - all to the glory of God.
Dottie died from cancer in 1995, and hers was the first funeral held in our church building. Frank loved her so, and was heartbroken over losing the love of his life. But, his faith in Christ, his hope set squarely on the gospel, caught my attention - even then, and I learned one of my first of many lessons watching him. I learned a pastor must know, preach and never fail in telling all that, in Christ, there is no sting in death.
As the years wore on Frank continued to faithfully attend. He was always telling me about someone he'd met. Someone who needed help. Someone who needed prayer. Someone with whom he'd just shared the gospel and needed a church, a job, or a friend. I wondered over him - now in his late 70s - and would tease after he'd been by, saying to those standing near, 'well, that's me in 25 years or so!'
One day Frank came to my office and told me he'd written a poem. One he wanted to share. The poem was good. Actually, quite good. Making a simple but needed point. And, after that, the poems kept coming. Next came the guitar. Frank would play a new song for me and I would listen. And, once again, after he left I would smile and say to those standing nearby, 'well, you know, I suspect that will be me in 25 years.'
Frank never said anything to me that was critical. He was always complimentary and encouraging. But now that I look back I realize that it was through these compliments and encouragement that Frank had his way of gently leading me to be more. More faithful. More compassionate. More real. This was Frank's way. He didn't tell you what was wrong, just what was right - leaving you with the notion that doing more of what was right would be the key to moving on.
In 2000 ParkwayHills buried a time capsule out by the monument sign facing the Tollway. We were dedicating the new millennium and, so, in a morning worship service, with cameras rolling, we carried the capsule through the entirety of the church - from preschool, to kids, to youth and adults - class by class - placing things inside. As the capsule came into the sanctuary it was finally handed to Frank, who then, as one of our oldest members, carried the capsule outside to be buried. As he did we, who were still inside, watched Frank via a video feed shown on the church screen. Many of us began to cry as we watched this man we'd come to love. For we realized that Frank, now nearly 75, would likely not be alive when it was to be opened 25 years into our future. By now Frank had become our churches unofficial patriarch. Sitting each Sunday at his post along the east side wall, looking for those who were visiting to make them feel welcome. Bringing guests week after week, and sensing - always sensing - who among the audience might be the most needy, displaced or uncomfortable. I would watch Frank from my pulpit post and could often be heard by those standing close, 'well, you know, I suspect that will be me in 25 years.'
Before my last Sunday as Senior Pastor of ParkwayHills, Frank called me on the phone. In his 90s, now, he was living with his children in San Antonio. His voice was weaker but his words were still the same. He complimented me on a job well done, and then - of course - encouraged me on the days ahead, that I make the most of them and not waste my talents, gifts and call. As we talked he called me pastor as tears began to well in my eyes. Hearing him call me such was humbling, an honor that I have never been sure I deserved. After we hung up I sat in my offie and thought of this man. This one I had pastored for so many years, all the while with him really pastoring me. Then I said softly, this time only to myself, 'well, you know, I suspect that will be my in 25 years.' And I bowed my head and prayed to God that such might be so!
Thank you, Frank -
Pastor Sam
1 Timothy 4: 1-8
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