God's Answering-Machine-Encompassing Love

Gods love is all encompassing... and a mystery...

I was asked to be acolyte for my first funeral at St. James, my home parish.  I was there for a funeral a couple of months ago, for my wife's best friend Jean.  Our usual acolyte Barbara isn't usually able to help at funerals on Thursday, so I was called and I accepted.

The funeral was for a lovely lady named Marie, I looked up her obituary and prayed for her before the funeral, than set up for a most beautiful funeral Mass.  A family member got up and spoke about how well loved she was, and how she made everyone feel loved.   Our Pastor talked about God's love, and how the loss of her father at a young age was formative.  He assured us that her love was now within everyone who loved her, especially her family because her love was from God, So this love will not end, will not die, even though the person is physically gone.  I was aware of little problems I was having in preparing for the funeral, and with some of the logistics of the service. (After all the acolyte leads the procession with the cross, not following the priest and the urn, correct?)

Guess what, my little problems did not enhance, nor deter from Gods work at that service.  I only hope that my little problems never take away from Gods service.  I also hope that dispute my problems God's love can shine through, and as it does I will smile, not for myself, but for my ever-loving God who set up this whole thing.

So I went home, and my mom, who is in a retirement home, wanted me to try and fix her answering machine (answering machine... really?!?).  So I go with my sister for a long overdue visit to mom, she was about to sit down in the dining room for dinner, but she brought us up to the room to look at the little misbehaving beastie.

We stopped in the hallway to talk to mom's friend.  Now I sometimes do a communion service on Sunday for the residents, but I have not been there in a few months.  I miss the folks and apparently I am missed as well.  Mom's friend tells me to pray for her mother who passed away.  I questioned this, and in doing so, discovered that we had the funeral for Mom's friend's mother this morning.

I assured her that I was there, and praying for her, her mother and her family.
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So we get to mom's room and the little gadget gets power but none of the buttons work.  It is a model whch does not have tape or anything serviceable, so a little shaking, jiggling and otherwise manhandling the device made no difference.

Well, mom wants the thing to work, but it doesn't.  I tried to convince her that voice mail could be an easier option, but the concept was confusing.  I told her we will have to look for a new one.

Now I have to find me a time machine to go back to the time of answering machines.  And start going to visit mom on Sundays again.

The Wrong Funeral

God is so powerful and He speaks to us in so many wonderful ways,  even through a story passed along in email.  God bless you the reader,  the writer of this piece, and my dear sister who sent this to me. - PK  AND WE THINK GOD DOESN'T TALK TO US? 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 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. "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 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.

God shows His love for us because

God shows His love for us because:

He chose us,
He seeks us,
He instructs us and teaches us with patience,
He demonstrates His love in ways we can understand,
He hurts for us,
He forgives us,
and He saves us. -

Hosea 11