I wasn't very aware of the bombings in London yesterday, partly because we're not at home right now. I never keep up on the world well when I don't have a computer available all the time. (I can't stand TV news at any time or in any place.)
But the real reason I wasn't aware of the happenings in London yesterday was that I was at a funeral of an old family friend. I was glad to be in town so I could go. He was one of the first people to live in Orem, back when 8th East was a dirt road. We'd go to his house often as children to swing on his tire swing and hear him talk about when he was little.
He took us on drives around Utah Lake and now, whenever I hear a meadowlark, I think "Utah County is a pretty little place" because of Brother Gillespie. He hosted my sister's wedding reception in his beautiful yard. He was an ordinance worker in the temple for many years, and we loved it when we happened to see him there.
Of course, like everyone, Brother Gillespie had a lot of trials in his life. One of the things I like about funerals of people I'm not related to is to hear about how they dealt with their trials and just to learn more about them. Brother Gillespie was a quiet and unassuming man, but we loved him. We'll miss him, but I do believe that he is happier now.