I'll never forget one of my last visits with the man who was my pastor for two decades. He was dying from an advanced case of kidney cancer that spread to many areas of his body. He was weak and bedridden. His speech was unintelligible. I'd been asked to help for care for him while his wife took a well-deserved break. There was another person visiting him at the time; her name was Blanche. She was his secretary, office manager and friend, for more than 20 years. At one point in the visit he used his arms to wave her to come closer to him. As she moved closer, he waved arms a second time. She moved closer. Not satisfied with the distance between them, he waved his arms a third time until her face was inches away from his. With great effort, he lifted his head off his pillow to plant a kiss on her cheek. Immediately, he sank back into his bed. In the course of our friendship I'd heard him preach hundreds of sermons. I'm embarrassed to admit that I can't remember more than dozen, but the sermon on love I saw him demonstrate that day was the most powerful and unforgettable sermon he'd ever given, and he did it without uttering a word.