There is one memory in particular which always stands out for me when I think of your Dad. It was a regular Sunday morning, sometime in the last few years (since Paul died). As I mentioned, it can be daunting taking a big deep breath and going into church, and I usually go to the toilets first to brace myself for the next stage. I hope you don’t misunderstand me here – the welcome is very genuine and very welcoming, and very welcomed, but it can be hard sometimes to face it. Anyway, your Dad was always a calm and steady presence and a warm handshake on the way into church. On the morning I refer to, when I came out from the toilets and was welcomed by your Dad, the perimeter line of my emotions fell away and the tears came and wouldn’t stop. It was not necessarily obvious to anyone around as I can cry silently. Your Dad put his arm around me and he didn’t say a single word, not one word. He didn’t make a fuss or draw attention to the situation, he just stood there with me and didn’t say a single word. I can’t really explain how powerful that was. It took the pressure off me to pull myself together and allowed me to just be. It is always difficult for people to see others upset and we often try to say or do something that will bring comfort. There are times when this is of course the right thing to do – but your Dad knew in that moment that I did not need words or actions. He allowed space, a protected safe space for the Holy Spirit to come and to minister. After a few moments I recovered and looked up and your Dad asked if I was ok to go into the service, and I was fine. He had allowed space and time for the healing balm of Jesus to come in. In our world where we try to help and encourage it is not always easy to leave space. When I think of your Dad I will always think of that very special memory, and how powerful it was and still is for me; how he allowed the Holy Spirit to be the great Comforter. It reminds me of what my Paul said in the days before he died "the little things are really the big things"