My childhood preacher died this past week. Even reading that sentence as I write it, I don’t like the word “died.” I could have said “passed away” or “went home,” but it wouldn’t change the reality of it.

I have some special memories of Terry Broome. My family moved to South Georgia when I was 3.5 years old. We attended Forrest Park Church of Christ where Brother Terry ministered. I recall knocking doors with him before I was school aged. One Sunday night he was preaching and the power went out. He went right on preaching. This was before the days of iPads or smartphones with flashlights. He knew his stuff well enough to plow on in the darkness. I could share many more, but suffice it to say that my earliest impressions of ministry came from observing Terry Broome.

Thanks to the influence of several older Christians in my youth, I know firsthand the blessings of the generational mentorship we find in Scripture. Men like Terry Broome were my “Paul” and I was to them “Timothy.”

I once heard a respected professor make a statement about how we would be remembered. He said the preachers in the Restoration Movement that we remember are those who wrote most prolifically. It’s true that today, if we “know” someone who lived more than a generation before our time, it’s probably because we’ve read about that person or read their own writings.

As important as writing can be, I believe one of the greatest ways we live on is by mentoring others in the faith. One of the key focuses of Jesus’ ministry was the discipling of the apostles. He mentored them and then promised to aid them through the Holy Spirit once He completed His earthly work (cf. John 14:26).

Mentorship is a key element of biblical Christianity. So, dear Christian, look around you. Do you have a “Paul” in your life, whom you look to as an example and spiritual mentor? Do you have a “Timothy” whom you can encourage and guide by example?

If you do it right, someday someone might remember you the way I’m remembering Terry Broome. I can think of no higher compliment.

Clay Leonard