My parents took me on a trip to England, and while we were there, we visited Joe and Frieda in their cottage in Wales. I remember little about it, except that the house reminded me of a cozy hobbit home, and Frieda introduced me to the joy of having a hot water bottle put at my feet in bed at night. I remember chasing a little lamb in the green fields that they called home. I never could catch it, though.
Later, my father, the Rev. John Howe, invited the "man from England" to come and serve on his staff at Truro. I remember feeling very happy that he was coming, and I always found him and Frieda to be warm and kind and gentle folks. I loved listening to their accents.
Dad often sent Joe to minister to those church members who were hospital-bound. Joe had a special kindness and gentleness that was perfectly suited for that ministry, as his spirit greatly blessed the weak and suffering. He had a beautiful bedside manner.
I always felt safe and peaceful around Rev. Kitts. I look forward to seeing him again one day, where peace and joy will forever abound in the love of our Lord Jesus Christ. And maybe, just maybe, he and I can finally catch that little lamb together.