If you’re like me (Soren), you have giants who helped shaped your life of faith.

I met one of mine in my freshman year of high school. Growing up non-denominational Protestant in the western suburbs of Chicago, I knew that baptism awaited me in my teen years. So when Rev. Howard Westlund, our pastor at West Chicago Bible Church, announced that he would be leading a baptism-prep class on Sunday afternoons, I signed up.

For about six months of Sundays, I reported to the church library at 5 pm—ahead of the 6 pm evening worship service—with my notebook, brimming with copies of articles Pastor Westlund had copied for us on the Trinity, salvation, the life of Jesus, the role of the Holy Spirit, and much more. 

I looked forward to the classes. Pastor Westlund was the child of Norwegian immigrants and he grew up in Fargo, North Dakota. I felt so at ease around him, perhaps in part because he reminded me of my Grandpa Wallace, an Evangelical Free Church pastor and child of Swedish immigrants. He was hit with polio as a young man in the late 1950s and fought his way back—but with a pronounced limp and crutch for his arm.

On a Sunday evening in the spring of my freshman year, I stepped into the full-size tub that was otherwise concealed under the floor near the altar, took the microphone, and shared my testimony. Then, with Pastor Westlund’s arm behind my back, he welcomed me into the waters of baptism.
 The years passed. I moved and lost touch with Pastor Westlund. I was received into the Catholic Church after a long pilgrimage spanning years, and my ties to the church of my upbringing atrophied. 

Then in 2023, while in town for my 30^th high school reunion, I learned that Pastor Westlund was in good health at the age of 93 in a nearby suburb. I called him up. We planned a visit, and before I arrived, I took his Panera order (squash soup and tea). 

A widower for five years at that point, Pastor Westlund met me at the door and showed me to his kitchen table. He said the blessing—and all at once, over lunch, his innate kindness, gentleness, intuition, warmth, humor, and wisdom all flooded back, just as I had remembered in that church library.

After lunch he invited me to his pastor’s study. This short walk down the hall into a room jammed with hundreds of Biblical commentaries also felt like muscle memory to me—my pastor was once again inviting me to go deeper. We talked for about two hours—about life, marriage, family, discipleship, his hobby of making wooden toys for each of his 33 grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and restoring pianos and pump organs.

He recounted a story I faintly recalled. At 13 years old, while walking to the local grocery store, he heard God’s voice saying, “You belong to me now, will you serve me?” Without hesitation, he answered, “Yes.”  

When it  was almost time to for me to leave, he told me how because he was largely confined to home, he spent his days in prayer, and that he prayed daily for specific people and ministries. Because of his eyesight, he couldn’t read the expressions on my face, so he was leaning forward, expectant in the silence. I asked, “Will you add my family to your prayer list?”

With his radiant smile he said, “I would be happy to.” I thought “the Johnsons” might be meaningful enough, but he proceeded to type each of my children’s names into a massive font on his computer screen. Hearing him reverently repeat each of their names and check his spelling brought tears to my eyes.

And then he said, “I will be praying for each of you weekly, and now you just have to tell me which day you’d like that to be.” I smiled, thought about it, and decided on Mondays.

I learned that Pastor Westlund entered eternity on February 13, 2025. His funeral service featured his three favorite hymns: “Great is Thy Faithfulness,” “Like a River Glorious,” and “Leaning on the Everlasting Arms.” The lifelong pastor of course had prepared a message to be read at this funeral by one of his children. It was characteristically brief, joyful. He wrote, “All of my life, I have marveled at this privileged call.”  

He concluded in words we would all do well to hear: “To you I say: Love Him. Trust His plan. Be forever thankful to Him, who always gives the best who leave the choice to Him.” While the man who welcomed me into baptism and prayed for my family on Mondays has gone ahead, his gentle witness is a gift I will forever cherish.