Carl Wesley Grubbs, 1917-1997"When the autumn leaves are falling, we know that the spirit of God is still moving upon the face of the earth." Those who heard the rich imagery in this sermon knew the true measure of my husband’s ministry. Asking God to inspire his thoughts and the language of his faith, Carl re-created the promise of life in death, reverencing words that echoed the seasons and the passages of time. For him, life was a journey full of hope, full of irony. He needed no notes — no written text — to remind him that eternal spring follows the fall when the autumn leaves, hued with colors of red, yellow, and gold are at their most beautiful as they are dying. Old churches — new churches — lifelong members — recent converts — one and many heard the inner meanings of a heart dedicated to Christ. From shores to mountains — from vales to glens, Carl followed the "Great Commission" sharing amazing grace and blessed assurance from Ashland to the Eastern Shore — to the Rappahannock, Lynchburg, Charlottesville, and Danville districts. In an unbroken circle of friends — inscribed by the radiance of Christ’s love — Carl made his footprints, seeking just a closer walk with God. The man with whom I shared 34 years ministering to others and 49 years in devotion to each other as husband and wife stood as a deeply loved father to Betty and Helen — a precious grandfather to Dwaine and Karen — and revered colleague of many shepherds in the Virginia Annual Conference of the United Methodist Church. Those who served the family when Carl’s work on earth was done — Dr. Willy N. Heggoy, the Rev. Wayne Lanham, the Rev. Charles Astin, the Rev. Randolph Rilee, the Rev. Donald Wilson, and the Rev. Rudy Smith — honored Carl’s commitment to Christ, his country, his flock, and his family. Comforting the faithful who gathered as the first pristine snow fell at Court Street that wintry day, Christ’s abiding love, blanketing the earth, commended Carl’s soul to its final resting place — higher than the mountains — where the autumn leaves become the first buds of spring — in the garden of resurrection and pastures green. In loving tribute, |