Funeral services were conducted for Roy D. Spears on Thursday, May 10, in San Antonio, Texas. Bros. Roy Cogdill and W. L. Wharton paid a final tribute to their friend and brother, and spoke God’s comfort to Lola and the surviving family. (Our bro. Dan Shipley is Roy’s nephew, and their relation was more like father and son.) This is written prior to the service, and it grieves me deeply that I can not be there. My emotions have been stifled so often by the press of duty that I sometimes cry aloud— then ask God for forgiveness. Two small churches in Cal. and Ariz. are depending on me, and Roy would understand. He loved the Lord and His work, and what greater thing can be said. Roy D. Spears was “a friend of preachers!” His own explanation was simple and to the point. “God has blessed me with some worldly goods. But the greater blessing He gave to men who can go out and save souls. I believe He wants me to hold up their hands in this work.” (This is not a quote in the strict sense, but very close to his oft repeated statement.) He backed the publication of books, tracts, and Bible study material. He financed meetings, preachers in hard places, preachers with “emergency situations.” He once told me, with a bit of a grin, that certain preachers

seemed to have more “emergency situations” than others. Roy Spears was not blind— he just liked to blink a little, if he felt a man could be lifted to greater usefulness in the service of the Lord. Roy was deeply grieved by the liberal drift among his brethren. When learned that a drifting preacher was still open to discussion he made all arrangements, drove his car, we traveled five hard days to talk the man. A soul was precious to Roy. I knew Roy as fellow Christian, elder in Highland Blvd. church (S. A. and business counselor; but our closest personal association was in a pickup truck, hunting in the brush of Texas. He delighted in conversation around a good table (Roy liked well prepared meals, and insisted on “the best” of camp fare), and the tell of hunting escapades was an annual affair. (We made a few stories together; of coyotes that came to deer offal before we could get away, of the rattlesnake that struck Roy’s boot, glancing off— those were days.) And every year a “private” talk, that helped relieve our hearts. Yes, Roy was a preacher’s friend. Seems like always, we visited such a short time— then one had to go... [Previous Article] [Next Article]

	Created on 22-Nov-00	Page last updated