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Your Fork |
The
sound of Martha's voice on the other end of the
telephone
always brought a smile to Brother Jim's face. She was
not only
one of the oldest members of the congregation, but one
of the
most faithful. Aunt Martie, as all the children called
her, just
seemed to ooze faith, hope and love wherever she went.
This time, however, there seemed to be an unusual tone
to her words.
"Preacher, could you stop by this afternoon? I need
to talk with you."
"Of course. I'll be there around three, Is that
okay?"
As they sat facing each other in the quiet of her small
living room,
Jim learned the reason for what he sensed in her voice.
Martha shared
the news that her doctor had just discovered a
previously undetected
tumor.
"He says I probably have six months to live."
Martha's words were
certainly serious, yet there was a definite calm about
her.
"I'm so sorry to . . . " but before Jim could
finish, Martha
interrupted.
"Don't be. The Lord has been good. I have lived a
long life. I'm
ready to go. You know that."
"I know," Jim whispered with a reassuring nod.
"But I do want to talk with you about my funeral. I
have been
thinking about it, and there are things that I know I
want."
The two talked quietly for a long time. They talked
about Martha's
favorite hymns, the passages of Scripture that had meant
so much to
her through the years, and the many memories they shared
from the
five years Jim had been with Central Church.
When it seemed that they had covered just about
everything, Aunt
Martie paused, looked up at Jim with a twinkle in her
eye, and then
added, "One more thing, preacher.
When they bury me, I want my old Bible in one hand and a
fork in the
other."
"A fork?" Jim was sure he had heard
everything, but this caught him
by surprise.
"Why do you want to be buried with a fork?"
"I have been thinking about all of the church
dinners and banquets
that I attended through the years," she explained.
"I couldn't begin
to count them all. But one thing sticks in my mind.
"At those really nice get-togethers, when the meal
was almost
finished, a server or maybe the hostess would come by to
collect
the dirty dishes. I can hear the words now.
Sometimes, at the best ones, somebody would lean over my
shoulder
and whisper, 'You can keep your fork.' And do you know
what that
meant? Dessert was coming!
"It didn't mean a cup of Jell-O or pudding or even
a dish of ice
cream. You don't need a fork for that. It meant the good
stuff, like
chocolate cake or cherry pie! When they told me I could
keep my
fork, I knew the best was yet to come!
"That's exactly what I want people to talk about at
my funeral. Oh,
they can talk about all the good times we had together.
That would
be nice.
"But when they walk by my casket and look at my
pretty blue dress,
I want them to turn to one another and say, 'Why the
fork?'
"That's what I want you to say. I want you to tell
them that I kept
my fork because the best is yet to come."
-- Roger William Thomas |
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