wrong funeral

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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 >issues 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 by the name of 'Margaret'?" > >"Because that was her name, Margaret. Never . No one called her ','" >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 - s." > >"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 > 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. >