Funeral Service for Patsy Ladeane Camp | June 15, 2026

1 Corinthians 15:42b-57

Six years ago, Tammy and I interviewed with the church in Deer Park. David Camp met us at the hotel and took us to the church building where the elders and their wives were preparing a fish fry. When I walked into the building, that’s the first time I ever met Patsy Camp—and she was busily working to make sure things were just so. And I’ve come to learn that was one of Patsy’s attributes.

That first weekend—hectic as it was—caused me to fall in love with the Deer Park church, and I fell in love with the Deer Park church in no small part because of David and Patsy Camp. And, I don’t think that I’ve ever thought of David without thinking of Patsy or vice versa. And that’s precisely how God designed marriage—a special relationship of encouragement, respect, and love.

When Adam was all alone, God said, “It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper fit for him” (Gen 2:18). Patsy was the helper fit for David. Because I’m the preacher, I’ve been able to see David’s work up close—from long meetings to visitation to teaching to supplying Bibles to prisoners to depositing the church’s contribution. How has David been able to do so much in the Lord’s work? Because Patsy was encouraging him!

Several years ago, David told me how he and Patsy started their lives together in Comanche, Oklahoma: David Underwood baptized them both and performed their wedding ceremony. I know that most of you have no idea who David Underwood was, but just over thirty years ago, David Underwood was one of my college professors. To me, it’s been special to have a unique connection to such a precious couple.

As precious as Patsy was, she could get really wild in public. Back when the Astrodome was still open, Dave took his bride to watch the All-Star Game. If you don’t understand, the All-Star Game brings together the best players in all of America’s pastime. As the game went on, Patsy fell asleep. If that wasn’t embarrassing enough, David looked over and Patsy was on the jumbotron fast asleep.

This afternoon Patsy sleeps in Jesus, and she rests from her good work. “And I heard a voice from heaven saying, ‘Write this: Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on.’ ‘Blessed indeed,’ says the Spirit, ‘that they may rest from their labors, for their deeds follow them!’” (Rev 14:13).

It’s only right that Patsy rest from her labors, for she suffered from one of the most cruel diseases known to man. Yet, dementia never took Patsy’s sweet spirit. A few members of the family told me that they were grateful I got to know Patsy before disease dimmed Patsy’s mind. Me, too; me, too.

I witnessed Patsy becoming more and more forgetful, but I only saw her become agitated once. I stopped by to visit when David and Patsy were living at Sodalis. David was gone, and Patsy was there with Rosalyn. As soon as Patsy and Rosalyn came to the door, it was clear that Patsy was having a rough day. Rosalyn asked Patsy if she wanted her preacher to come in and visit; Patsy made in clear—in no uncertain words—that she had no desire—none—for her preacher to come inside and visit. Now, to be fair, we preachers tend to have that effect on people anyway.

But for that one single exception, I never saw Patsy’s personality change even the slightest. I saw her becoming more and more forgetful, but Patsy was always her usual, genteel self. On Sunday mornings over the past year or so, it was obvious that Patsy had no clue who I was. But I would go up to Patsy, take her hand and talk to her. She was always most kind. She would even ask how I was doing and if I was okay. I could tell she was trying to place me and coming up blank, but that never prevented her from being sweet and kind.

Through the week, David and Patsy would come by the building. David would get the deposit ready for the bank, and Patsy would prepare the Lord’s Supper. Some time ago, Patsy would become concerned that she wasn’t preparing communion right, and David would go with her and help. Yet, even when she required help, Patsy wanted to serve, and serve she did.

Wednesday evening Bible class was a special time; because there are so few of us, that class is very intimate. That class’s intimacy allowed me to witness a unique side of Patsy. Now, I will say that any lady who brought a pocketbook with her on Wednesday might not get to leave with her purse; Patsy was convinced that every purse she saw was hers, and, yes, she tried to take them. I ask a lot of questions when leading a class; it was nothing unusual, even in the late stages of her disease, for Patsy to provide a very sound, solid answer.

By far, the most precious memory I’ll take with me from those Wednesday evening classes is Patsy singing. My son RJ leads the singing, and he often chooses songs about heaven. Patsy sat across from me, and she’d have her song book opened in front of her, but she wouldn’t be using it. Instead, she’d be signing songs about heaven from memory as her disease progressed further and further. It was hard to concentrate on teaching after witnessing that—I’d be a little choked up thinking about a sweet lady whose mental clarity was fading by the day singing about the place which would soon be her home and where her mind would be crystal clear.

Paul summed it up best when he put it this way: “Now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known” (1 Cor 13:12). Patsy saw the world “in a mirror dimly” for the past few years. This morning she knows her Lord “face to face.” In the presence of her Lord, Pasty knows fully, even as she has been fully known.

1 Thessalonians 4:13-18