I can still see him - behind the pulpit that was always a little too high. Or maybe he was a little too low. Head bowed to the Scriptures so as not to lose his place, light reflecting from his recently combed lack of hair, right hand raised with one crooked finger pointing at the congregation and keeping time with it as he spoke with that certain melody that preachers of by-gone eras employed to enjoin their people to trust the Lord and walk by faith. Just an old-fashioned man of God. And a man of faith. One of God's builders.
    I remember the stories. Or at least I remember some of them (although I may not remember all the details correctly). Shortly after being ordained at the Calvary Baptist Church of Wichita Falls, he packed his two small children into the family car. He made a bed in the back for his sickly wife, packed all their earthly belongings into a home-made trailer, and buoyed by a love offering totaling sixty dollars, headed off to Cortez, Colorado to start a church. They said he'd never make it. They said that for the next forty years. It didn't bother him- he figured they would always say it. He built a church there.
    He did not walk the land of giants. He spent his time in places with names like Orange, Altus, Livingston, Kingfisher, Healdton, Blair, Waurika. Places that needed the gospel, too. If they would not listen, he moved on. If they would listen, he got them settled. And then he moved on. Just one of God's builders.
    I never knew a missionary who could do more with less and was satisfied with as little. Something was better than nothing, and if nothing was what God provided, it must be enough. Besides, if God had meant for us to have perfect stuff, we wouldn't have anything to work on. He built rooms. He built foundations. He built pulpits. He built character. I remember being at the wrong end of a shovel, and trying to lower a pile of sand in Orange, Texas. Summer. Humidity three hundred percent. Temperature a hundred and five. I was about thirty-two. He was about sixty-one. I thought he was going to kill me. Just one of God's builders.
   The preparation was a rough one. Heart trouble. Cancer. Kidney problems. He always thanked the Lord that "things are as well with us as they are." In the hospital, in and out of consciousness, he was confused and uncomfortable. One of the last times we saw him, one of the visitors kissed his head and said, "I sure would like to hear you preach again." The eyes opened, the eyebrows raised, the finger pointed. "Repent, and be baptized," he said sternly. You can't challenge a preacher like that and get away with it. Just one of God's builders.
   The Lord needed another builder today and called Brother Joe Watson home. It just won't be the same down here. But I guarantee you it will never be the same up there, either. We have lost several great men of God in the last few weeks. I just didn't want this one to go unnoticed. He wouldn't like this, you know-someone praising him so he'd lose his reward. But I think he'll forgive me. I believe I can see him up there-still working on the building.
So long, my friend. It was my privilege to be a part of your life- and to be influenced by your ministry. Just one of God's builders.