Mr. Fink served as an elder at the church where I went when I first became a Christian. Both he and his wife Nancy knew me well and strengthened and supported me despite my foolishness as a high school kid. They loved kids, perhaps especially the foolish ones like myself. They loved kids so much they volunteered as directors FC Georgia Camp every summer I was in high school. One year, I showed up for camp as usual, drum set in tow, making my way to the sign in sheet, but when I looked, my name was not there. I had never registered for camp. Without much support at home for this camp, it never dawned on me to actually register for camp let alone pay for it. I believe my grandparents paid for me to go one year, but besides that, I don’t know how it all happened. I just showed up for camp and everything was ready for me. Again, youthful ignorance and foolishness. But this year, my name was not on the list, and I didn’t know what to do. Rather than send me home or embarrass me, Ross Fink took me aside, rearranged cabins to give me a spot, made me a name tag complete with camp activities and my society, and I’m sure a number of other things that only directors have to think about. It was as if he knew this would happen. Like he and Nancy anticipated it from the start. They paid for me to go to camp that year and went through the difficulties of last minute arrangements. But they also wisely told me what happened. Mr. Fink took me aside and like a father lovingly explained to me the situation and the dangers of entitlement. And he went on to explain my work schedule for him that summer to pay off camp. I gladly accepted the terms.
Mr. Fink, you are dearly missed. Tap, Tap, Tap.