James “Frank” Orren, Jr., beloved husband, father, and dedicated community servant, passed away peacefully on Wednesday, December 3, 2025, in Charlotte, NC, after a decade-long battle with dementia.

Frank was born in 1947 in Reidsville, NC, to the late Marian and James Frank Orren, Sr. He was also preceded in death by his older sister, Anne B. Orren.

He served his country during the Vietnam War, enlisting in the U.S. Coast Guard and being stationed in Honolulu, where he received an honorable discharge. During his service, he married Linda Winstead (Orren) and upon returning to civilian life, they settled in Greensboro, NC. Frank dedicated more than 25 years to AT&T and its predecessor companies.. He was a committed member of his community, serving as a soccer coach, a swimming judge, and a member of the Knights of Columbus. He was known to all who met him as a friendly, good-humored, and helpful servant.

Following divorce, Frank moved to Lexington, NC. In 2001, he married Faye Hepler (Orren), becoming a devoted stepfather to Steve Hepler. After a brief retirement, he returned to work for ACS until his second retirement in 2012. He later was diagnosed with dementia and was moved into nursing care in 2020, where he was lovingly cared for until his passing.

A man of deep faith, Frank was a committed Christian who served in various roles at St. Pius X Catholic Church in Greensboro and later in a less formal capacity in Lexington. His generosity extended beyond the church; he was an Al-Anon sponsor and a helping hand to anyone in need.

Frank is survived by his wife, Faye Hepler Orren; his son, Michael Orren; and his stepson, Steve Hepler and countless friends who loved him.

Per Frank’s wishes, there will be no memorial service. In lieu of flowers, the family requests that donations be made to The Alzheimer’s Association or a charity of the donor’s choosing.

Last year, we moved from Dallas, TX to Lancaster, PA.

There are two things we miss from Dallas, and they’re intertwined — our friends and our church. We both came back to the church at Munger Place and were married there. And our ride-or-dies were largely from my small group made up of guys from a variety of Christian churches.

One would think it wouldn’t be hard to find a church in a town like Lancaster, but finding the right one for us has been a challenge. When we first got here I said I wanted to start with the geographically nearest church and keep working outward until we hit on the right one, feeling called to be in a “neighborhood church.”

Instead, we relied on online research and a quest for churches that matched our tastes. Up until this month, that search was futile. Whether it was theological nuance, music or preaching style, each visit turned up another “no.” And to be honest, we became less diligent about the search over time, instead leaning on our own Bible study and video sermons online.

The longer we’ve been here — just over a year now — the more we’ve felt a community-shaped hole. So just about any time I meet someone new, I quiz them about their church. At a business event a couple weeks ago, I met a gentleman whose church sounded like what we seek — a biblical, progressive, welcoming, authentic community of Christ. Moreover, it is literally the geographically closest church to our home, a crisp block away from our front door.

I’ve seen West End Mennonite Fellowship hundreds of times. I took note of it on our first visit to town. But in my ignorance, I discarded it because of its denomination.

What’s wrong with the Mennonites? In my uninformed mind, I had visions of Amish-type garb and isolationism, maybe some butter-churning. So we didn’t even consider it.

But after the conversation with the congregant, I did what I do these days when I’m trying to understand something unfamiliar.

I went to their Facebook page, where they stream services. I used Downie to download the most recent 23 (because that’s what fit on one listing page). Then I transcribed them all using Whisper. Finally, I uploaded all of those to Perplexity with this query:

Based only on the transcrips in the uploaded files in this space give me an analysis of this church. Is it biblically based? Is it strict? Conservative or progressive? Any red flags?

The result led me to visit . (Crystal wasn’t able to go, but eagerly awaited my scouting report.) Everything about the analysis, including red flags that were green in our eyes made me hopeful. I’ve now been four times and am certain we’ve found a church home.

This is the church’s mission statement:

“Welcome all people into a safe and healing community where we grow to be like Jesus and join Him in extending His kingdom to the world.”

While the worship is as deep as any church I’ve seen, there’s also a town meeting vibe. While the pastor leads, there are more than thirty different preachers over the year, including trained congregants. The announcements section is endearingly wheels off with usually over a half dozen speakers. The music is simple. The church appears to be in an old school and in the best ways gives off the vibe of mission churches I’ve been to in Nicaragua and Guatemala.

There are about thirty international flags hanging from the ceiling, each representing at least one local refugee who is a member of the church. My understanding is that there’s about 300 members, so that’s a remarkable percentage.

The preaching has been deep-text analysis with theology-school rigor and everyday relatability. Men and women preach and lead.

Hospitality is a cornerstone of this church. Folks are actively welcoming without being prodded from the pulpit. The first week on being identified as new, we were presented with a “legendary” date bread loaf made weekly for the purpose of welcome.

We’ve been traversing some rocky weather in our lives this season. But yesterday afternoon, I left with more peace in my heart than I’ve had since we moved here. We’re home.

I try not to jump on the celebrity death train. Riffing of mine and Crystal’s favorite comedy show, “It behooves you, when a famous person dies, to make it about you and blame the year.”

That said, in my lifetime, I can only think of four celebrity deaths that ever shook me: Steve Jobs, Lou Reed, Johnny Cash…

and Kris Kristofferson. Tonight.

Kris made it OK to be an intellectual and a country music fan. For the younger among us, that was an insane concept even forty years ago. He encompassed everything a man could want to be: a decorated soldier; a Rhodes scholar intellectual; and an outlaw country icon.

I didn’t get into Kris deeply until my brother Houston brought him into my view in the 1990’s. We used to go into bars in Dallas late at night and sing this song at the top of our lungs:

“I took myself down to the Tally-Ho Tavern to buy me a bottle of beer
I sat me down by a tender young maiden whose eyes were as dark as her hair
And as I was searchin’ from bottle to bottle for somethin’ unfoolish to say
That silver tongued devil just slipped from the shadows and smilingly stole her away
I said hey little girl don’t you know he’s the devil he’s everything that I ain’t
Hidin’ intentions of evil under the smile of a saint
All he’s good for is gettin’ in trouble and shifting his share of the blame
And some people swear he’s my double and some even say we’re the same
But the silver tongued devil’s got nothing to lose I’ll only live till I die
We take our own chances and pay our own dues the silver tongued devil and I
Like all the fair maidens who’ve laid down beside him
She knew in her heart that he’d lied
But nothing that I could have said could’ve saved her
No matter how hard that she tried
Cause she’ll offer her soul to the darkness and danger
Of something that she’s never known
And open her arms at the smile of a stranger who’ll love her and leave her alone
And you know he’s the devil…”

We had the outer edge of his wisdom. Thanks to Kris we knew that we were both good and evil and all the things in between.

Later in life, in my most desperate times, Kris gave me a roadmap

“A couple of years back, I come across a great and wasted friend of mine in the hallway of a recording studio; and while he was reciting some poetry to me that he’d written, I saw that he was about a step away from dyin’ and I couldn’t help but wonder why. And the lines of this song occurred to me. I’m happy to say he’s no longer wasted and he’s got him a good woman. And I’d like to dedicate this to John and June, who helped show me how to beat the devil.

It was winter time in Nashville, down on music city row.
And I was lookin’ for a place to get myself out of the cold.
To warm the frozen feelin’ that was eatin’ at my soul.
Keep the chilly wind off my guitar.

My thirsty wanted whisky; my hungry needed beans,
But it’d been of month of paydays since I’d heard that eagle scream.
So with a stomach full of empty and a pocket full of dreams,
I left my pride and stepped inside a bar.

Actually, I guess you’d could call it a Tavern:
Cigarette smoke to the ceiling and sawdust on the floor;
Friendly shadows.

I saw that there was just one old man sittin’ at the bar.
And in the mirror I could see him checkin’ me and my guitar.
An’ he turned and said: “Come up here boy, and show us what you are.”
I said: “I’m dry.” He bought me a beer.

He nodded at my guitar and said: “It’s a tough life, ain’t it?”
I just looked at him. He said: “You ain’t makin’ any money, are you?”
I said: “You’ve been readin’ my mail.”
He just smiled and said: “Let me see that guitar.
“I’ve got something you oughta hear.”
Then he laid it on me:

[Sung:]
“If you waste your time a-talkin’ to the people who don’t listen,
“To the things that you are sayin’, who do you think’s gonna hear.
“And if you should die explainin’ how the things that they complain about,
“Are things they could be changin’, who do you think’s gonna care?”

There were other lonely singers in a world turned deaf and blind,
Who were crucified for what they tried to show.
And their voices have been scattered by the swirling winds of time.
‘Cos the truth remains that no-one wants to know.

[Spoken:]
Well, the old man was a stranger, but I’d heard his song before,
Back when failure had me locked out on the wrong side of the door.
When no-one stood behind me but my shadow on the floor,
And lonesome was more than a state of mind.

You see, the devil haunts a hungry man,
If you don’t wanna join him, you got to beat him.
I ain’t sayin’ I beat the devil, but I drank his beer for nothing.
Then I stole his song.

[Sung:]
And you still can hear me singin’ to the people who don’t listen,
To the things that I am sayin’, prayin’ someone’s gonna hear.
And I guess I’ll die explaining how the things that they complain about,
Are things they could be changin’, hopin’ someone’s gonna care.

I was born a lonely singer, and I’m bound to die the same,
But I’ve got to feed the hunger in my soul.
And if I never have a nickel, I won’t ever die ashamed.
‘Cos I don’t believe that no-one wants to know.”

Kris wrote songs that were magic, no matter who sang them. If you think you can name a bad version of “Me and Bobby McGee” or “Sunday Morning Coming Down,” I’ll fight you.

But, surprisingly for an outlaw country paragon, his greatest moments were his most Christlike, and most relatable.

Before covering “Why Me Lord,” Johnny Cash would say that God asked, “Why Me. Chris?” I’m sure he did.

But for me, to explain Kris, you need to see this moment: Sinead O’Connor had just torn up a photo of the Pope on Saturday Night Live. You can call that sacrligeous, but she believed what she was saying.

A week later, she was performing at a Bob Dylan celebration. She was booed off stage.

Kris, who probably disagreed with her, came out and embraced her, protecting her from the rabid crowd.

Kris beat the Devil. And he gave us clues on how to do it too.