The Funeral
Although I had been married for almost twenty five years, during the time right before the funeral I felt more like a daughter and sister than a wife and mother. We greeted people I had not thought about for years. So many faces were like signposts of my childhood. Each handshake as well as the glimpse of facial features obscured by wrinkles brought into sharp focus colorful memories. A string of Fourth of July celebrations at this neighbor's farm lit with sparklers and Roman candles. My father's former boss and company picnics on the beach - multicolored bathing suits and the bright blue of the waves. Each one we greeted was a reminder of all those who loved my parents, and would continue to treasure my mom.
As the add on speaker Steve spoke for 6 minutes at the funeral. He summed up my father's life with two words. He was friendly and faithful. He usually had an upbeat word for everyone he met. He was known for his good natured kidding with the waitresses at his favorite restaurant. My father was a friendly guy. Daddy was a hard worker. He cared for my mother. Even though greeting card sentiments never passed his lips, none of us doubted his love for her or for any of us. My father had been a faithful worker, a faithful husband and a faithful father. Steve then went on to talk about how Jesus was friendly and faithful.
During the winter before my father's death, I wrote an entry in my journal about delivering papers, not realizing how I would later adapt it to read at his funeral. I knew something needed to be said about my mother and then I thought of this journal entry.
The snow had fallen all day without pausing. The newspapers arrived. I bundled up and made my way to the corner. The snow plow had failed to come down our street but it had done its duty on the intersecting street. I stepped high as I attempted to cross the pile left in the plow's wake and I crunched through the snow.
This wasn't going to be easy. Where my customer had shoveled the day before there was little problem shuffling through the soft powder. Other houses seemed marooned behind knee deep and deeper whiteness. I stared at their porches as I resentfully wondered if this one had given me a tip. I visualized rolling the paper, rubberbanding it and tossing it onto the porch. Since I had no rubber bands and probably not an adequate enough aim, I began my highstepping trek to the almost hidden front steps. Again and again I crunched through the snow plow's creations and plodded to the front door.
What were the verses on which I had been meditating? Romans5:2-5 ---we also exalt in our tribulations, knowing that tribulation brings about perseverance; and perseverance, proven character--- Tips or not, the task lay before me. I was called to persevere, snow plow mounds and biting cold producing proven character.
A newspaper route - a metaphor for life. I have seen this metaphor lived out in the life of my mother. As she has persevered in wholeheartedly loving my earthly father, our heavenly father has granted her all she needed to stay on task. The end result of this difficult journey has been that God now has a daughter who is far better able to give Him glory.
Isn't that how God often works granting grace, and by grace perseverance and then proven character? It wasn't just my mother learning and growing in the hard times.
As the add on speaker Steve spoke for 6 minutes at the funeral. He summed up my father's life with two words. He was friendly and faithful. He usually had an upbeat word for everyone he met. He was known for his good natured kidding with the waitresses at his favorite restaurant. My father was a friendly guy. Daddy was a hard worker. He cared for my mother. Even though greeting card sentiments never passed his lips, none of us doubted his love for her or for any of us. My father had been a faithful worker, a faithful husband and a faithful father. Steve then went on to talk about how Jesus was friendly and faithful.
During the winter before my father's death, I wrote an entry in my journal about delivering papers, not realizing how I would later adapt it to read at his funeral. I knew something needed to be said about my mother and then I thought of this journal entry.
The snow had fallen all day without pausing. The newspapers arrived. I bundled up and made my way to the corner. The snow plow had failed to come down our street but it had done its duty on the intersecting street. I stepped high as I attempted to cross the pile left in the plow's wake and I crunched through the snow.
This wasn't going to be easy. Where my customer had shoveled the day before there was little problem shuffling through the soft powder. Other houses seemed marooned behind knee deep and deeper whiteness. I stared at their porches as I resentfully wondered if this one had given me a tip. I visualized rolling the paper, rubberbanding it and tossing it onto the porch. Since I had no rubber bands and probably not an adequate enough aim, I began my highstepping trek to the almost hidden front steps. Again and again I crunched through the snow plow's creations and plodded to the front door.
What were the verses on which I had been meditating? Romans5:2-5 ---we also exalt in our tribulations, knowing that tribulation brings about perseverance; and perseverance, proven character--- Tips or not, the task lay before me. I was called to persevere, snow plow mounds and biting cold producing proven character.
A newspaper route - a metaphor for life. I have seen this metaphor lived out in the life of my mother. As she has persevered in wholeheartedly loving my earthly father, our heavenly father has granted her all she needed to stay on task. The end result of this difficult journey has been that God now has a daughter who is far better able to give Him glory.
Isn't that how God often works granting grace, and by grace perseverance and then proven character? It wasn't just my mother learning and growing in the hard times.
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