Fort King Presbyterian Church

I didn’t set out to be one of Madelyn’s sheep. It just happened.

Shortly after joining Fort King Presbyterian Church three years ago, the phone rang.

“Hello, this is Madelyn Kmetz. I’m your shepherd. Everything going all right?”

Madelyn had a list of people to call every month. Somehow, my name was on that list. I had become, by the grace of God, one of her sheep.

Once on Madelyn’s radar, she never let go.

Madelyn called monthly to inquire about “everything,” by which she meant church life.

I was confused. Were we spiritual friends, talking about our journeys? Not really. A shepherd makes sure you “walk the walk,” show up for church and do not stray.

My shepherd was not without guile.

“How’s everything going?” she asked one month, then answering herself: “I know you were at the 8:30 a.m. service last Sunday because (so and so) saw you singing in the choir.”

Great. Another layer of accountability in my life, someone asking, “What have you done for me lately and how often have you done it?”

Over time, my early resentment turned into respect and admiration. She always called, was always cheerful and genuinely cared about her sheep.

Then news came last year that her doctor said she’d never live to see her 89th birthday. A death sentence.

Still, the phone rang.

“Hello, this is Madelyn. Everything going all right?”

We talked. I hung up the phone and promptly burst into tears. My shepherd was dying yet making all her monthly calls. Such faithfulness. Such focus. How humbling. This sheep had to take action.

I showed up at her doorstep, some silly present in hand. Madelyn, never at a loss for words, asked why I was there. I answered: “It is payback time, Madelyn. You’ve been faithful to me for three years, now it is my turn.”

Madelyn had many friends, most of them she’d known forever, for 20 to 50 years or more. I was barely a blip on her radar and only showed up occasionally. This sheep, I confess, still has a lot to learn about faithfulness.

She sat on the couch at home, waiting to die. It didn’t happen. Madelyn got tired of waiting. She pushed herself around with a walker. A Hospice worker started coming. One day, she felt well enough to drive. Madelyn was a terrible driver.

I’m really surprised Ocala Police Chief Morrey Deen wasn’t standing in her driveway that day to say, “Now, Madelyn, you can drive around your apartment complex, but our city streets just can’t take it.”

In July, her daughter, Andrea Green, gave her a surprise 89th birthday party. Madelyn looked beautiful, hugged everyone and was very happy to prove her doctor wrong.

But the clock was ticking. Before Christmas, pneumonia put her in the hospital. She left there and went to her daughter’s house, where she died on Thursday.

I’ll miss her faithfulness, her friendship, the sound of her cheery voice.

“Hello, this is Madelyn. Everything going all right?”