Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Monday, March 28, 2011
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Thursday, March 3, 2011
THE WRONG FUNERAL
say there are no mistakes, for everything there is a purpose. Makes you
think . . .
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 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.
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.
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. . .
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 '
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?
over at us whispering, "Her name is Mary, Mary Peters.'" '
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.
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.
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
right on time . . .
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
has done for you, send this on to others.
where we are to be.