FOODFORTHOUGHT

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
tissue 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
with no entanglements, to take care of her.

I felt 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, I believe you're at the wrong
funeral, sir. The solemness 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, my mother and his
Aunt Mary introduced us, and it's truly a match
made in heaven......

Many thanks to Felix M. Ramos who shared this!

PRAYER
"Come Lord, work upon us, set us on fire and clasp us close, be fragrant to us, draw us to your loveliness, let us love, let us run to you." (Prayer of St. Augustine)

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