J.D. Ritchey

He stood as a cornerstone guarding the door to our church. He wore stories on his face that were known only to a few, and others, known to none. His body told stories of a life spent in a distant war and only gave minimal and brief insight to what happened to a missing leg.

"I was not a good man," he would say, speaking of younger years. Unknown are those years to me. My heart saw only a man of great strength; a man with a heart for the sick, a man who lived in community with every member of a small body of believers, each missing 'legs' of their own. The man stood taller than most while sitting in a wheelchair, in a corner, as a soldier guarding a little church. A man made 'good' by the redeeming blood of Christ. A man made 'good' by a transforming Spirit.

He will now gather to his people; be in the presence of a girl of his youth.
Virginia, here he comes. He will stand next to you once more...on limbs fully restored; a new body made whole by Him. And here we will sit, in our little church, stare at a vacant corner with eyes that will see J.D. Ritchey holding up that corner stronger ever still.