Post by Rhonda on Feb 6, 2009 5:21:29 GMT -5
THE WRONG FUNERAL
This is really beautiful...God is not sleeping.
Consumed by my loss, I didn't notice the hardness of the pew where I
sat. I was at the funeral of my dearest friend -- my mother. She
finally had lost her long battle with cancer. The hurt was so intense,
I found it hard to breathe at times. Always supportive, Mother clapped
loudest.
at my school plays, held a box of tissues while listening to my first
heartbreak, comforted me at my father's death, encouraged me in college,
and prayed for me my entire life. When mother's illness was diagnosed,
my sister had a new baby and my brother had recently married his
childhood sweetheart, so it fell on me, the 27-year-old middle child
without entanglements, to take care of her.
I counted it an honor. "What now, Lord?" I asked sitting in church. My
life stretched out before me as an empty abyss. My brother sat
stoically with his face toward the cross while clutching his wife's
hand. My sister sat slumped against her husband's shoulder,
his arms around her as she cradled their child. All so deeply grieving,
no one noticed I sat alone. My place had been with our mother,
preparing her meals, helping her walk, taking her to the doctor, seeing
to her medication, reading the Bible together.
Now she was with the Lord. My work was finished, and I was alone. I
heard a door open and slam shut at the back of the church. Quick
footsteps hurried along the carpeted floor. An exasperated young man
looked around briefly and then sat next to me. He folded his hands and
placed them on his lap. His eyes were brimming with tears. He began to
sniffle. "I'm late," he explained, though no explanation was necessary.
After several eulogies, he leaned over and commented, "Why do they keep
calling Mary by the name of 'Margaret'?" "Because that was her name,
Margaret. Never Mary. No one called her 'Mary'," I whispered. I
wondered why this person couldn't have sat on the other side of the
church.
He interrupted my grieving with his tears and fidgeting. Who was this
stranger anyway? "No, that isn't correct," he insisted, as several
people glanced over at us whispering, "Her name is Mary, Mary Peters."
"That isn't who this is." "Isn't this the Lutheran church?" "No, the
Lutheran church is across the street." "Oh." "I believe you're at
the wrong funeral, Sir."
The solemnness of the occasion mixed with the realization of the man's
mistake bubbled up inside me and came out as laughter. I cupped my
hands over my face, hoping it would be interpreted as sobs. The
creaking pew gave me away. Sharp looks from other mourners only made
the situation seem more hilarious. I peeked at the bewildered,
misguided man seated beside me.
He was laughing, too, as he glanced around, deciding it was too late for
an uneventful exit. I imagined Mother laughing. At the final "Amen," we
darted out a door and into the parking lot. "I do believe we'll be the
talk of the town," he smiled. He said his name was Rick and since he
had missed his aunt's funeral, asked me out for a cup of coffee. That
afternoon began a lifelong journey for me with this man who attended the
wrong funeral, but was in the right place.
A year after our meeting, we were married at a country church where he
was the assistant pastor. This time we both arrived at the same church,
right on time. In my time of sorrow, God gave me laughter. In place of
loneliness, God gave me love. This past June we celebrated our
twenty-second wedding anniversary. Whenever anyone asks us how we met,
Rick tells them, "Her mother and my Aunt Mary introduced us, and it's
truly a match made in heaven."
-----Jesus said, "If you are ashamed of me, I will be ashamed of you
before my Father. "Not ashamed? Pass this on . . . only if you mean it.
Yes, I do Love God. He is my source of existence and Savior. He keeps me
functioning each and everyday. Without Him, I would be nothing. Without
him, I am nothing, but with Him I can do all things, through Christ that
strengthens me. (Phil. 4:13
This is really beautiful...God is not sleeping.
Consumed by my loss, I didn't notice the hardness of the pew where I
sat. I was at the funeral of my dearest friend -- my mother. She
finally had lost her long battle with cancer. The hurt was so intense,
I found it hard to breathe at times. Always supportive, Mother clapped
loudest.
at my school plays, held a box of tissues while listening to my first
heartbreak, comforted me at my father's death, encouraged me in college,
and prayed for me my entire life. When mother's illness was diagnosed,
my sister had a new baby and my brother had recently married his
childhood sweetheart, so it fell on me, the 27-year-old middle child
without entanglements, to take care of her.
I counted it an honor. "What now, Lord?" I asked sitting in church. My
life stretched out before me as an empty abyss. My brother sat
stoically with his face toward the cross while clutching his wife's
hand. My sister sat slumped against her husband's shoulder,
his arms around her as she cradled their child. All so deeply grieving,
no one noticed I sat alone. My place had been with our mother,
preparing her meals, helping her walk, taking her to the doctor, seeing
to her medication, reading the Bible together.
Now she was with the Lord. My work was finished, and I was alone. I
heard a door open and slam shut at the back of the church. Quick
footsteps hurried along the carpeted floor. An exasperated young man
looked around briefly and then sat next to me. He folded his hands and
placed them on his lap. His eyes were brimming with tears. He began to
sniffle. "I'm late," he explained, though no explanation was necessary.
After several eulogies, he leaned over and commented, "Why do they keep
calling Mary by the name of 'Margaret'?" "Because that was her name,
Margaret. Never Mary. No one called her 'Mary'," I whispered. I
wondered why this person couldn't have sat on the other side of the
church.
He interrupted my grieving with his tears and fidgeting. Who was this
stranger anyway? "No, that isn't correct," he insisted, as several
people glanced over at us whispering, "Her name is Mary, Mary Peters."
"That isn't who this is." "Isn't this the Lutheran church?" "No, the
Lutheran church is across the street." "Oh." "I believe you're at
the wrong funeral, Sir."
The solemnness of the occasion mixed with the realization of the man's
mistake bubbled up inside me and came out as laughter. I cupped my
hands over my face, hoping it would be interpreted as sobs. The
creaking pew gave me away. Sharp looks from other mourners only made
the situation seem more hilarious. I peeked at the bewildered,
misguided man seated beside me.
He was laughing, too, as he glanced around, deciding it was too late for
an uneventful exit. I imagined Mother laughing. At the final "Amen," we
darted out a door and into the parking lot. "I do believe we'll be the
talk of the town," he smiled. He said his name was Rick and since he
had missed his aunt's funeral, asked me out for a cup of coffee. That
afternoon began a lifelong journey for me with this man who attended the
wrong funeral, but was in the right place.
A year after our meeting, we were married at a country church where he
was the assistant pastor. This time we both arrived at the same church,
right on time. In my time of sorrow, God gave me laughter. In place of
loneliness, God gave me love. This past June we celebrated our
twenty-second wedding anniversary. Whenever anyone asks us how we met,
Rick tells them, "Her mother and my Aunt Mary introduced us, and it's
truly a match made in heaven."
-----Jesus said, "If you are ashamed of me, I will be ashamed of you
before my Father. "Not ashamed? Pass this on . . . only if you mean it.
Yes, I do Love God. He is my source of existence and Savior. He keeps me
functioning each and everyday. Without Him, I would be nothing. Without
him, I am nothing, but with Him I can do all things, through Christ that
strengthens me. (Phil. 4:13