Prudent1
Well-Known Member
THIS IS CUTE; THE OPENING PARAGRAPH MAKES THE PROPER STATEMENT
TO SET THE MOOD. AND WE THINK GOD DOESN'T TALK TO US?
**AN ABSOLUTE MUST READ**
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 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 female 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 solemnest 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.'
If you Love God for all the marvelous things he has done for
you, send this on to others.
REMEMBER, God doesn't make mistakes. He puts us where we are
supposed to be.
--
"When not interfered with by outside influences, everything
nature does, is done with perfection."
Worry about nothing--pray about everything.
. 
) for the works God has done
. I have a silly side but Iown play 'bout my God
.
