The sound of Martha's voice on the other end of the
telephone always brought a smile to pator Jim.s face. She was not only one of the oldest members of his congregation,
but one of the most faithful. Aunt Martie, as all of the children called
her, just seemed to "ooze" faith, hope and love ehereever she went. This time, however, there seemed to be an unusual tone to her words.
"Pastor, could you stop by this afternoon? I need to talk with you."
"Of course I'll be there around three. Is that okay?" It didn't take long
for Jim to discover the reason for what he had only sensed in her
voice before. As they sat facing each other in the quiet of her small
living room, Martha shared that her doctor ohad just discovered
a previously undetected tumor. "He says I probably have only six
months to live."
MARTHA'S WORDS WERE NATURALLY 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 AM READY TO GO. YOU KNOW THAT." "I KNOW," JIM WHISPERED
WITH A REASSURING NOD.
"BUT I DO WANT TO TALK TO YOU ABOUT MY FUNERAL. I HAVE BEEN THINKING
ABOUT IT, AND THERE ARE SOME 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
THE 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, PASTOR. 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'VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT ALL 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-
TOGETHER'S, 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 WHEN I WANT YOU TO TELL THEM, THAT I
KEPT MY FORK BECAUSE, "THE BEST IS YET TO COME."
AUTHOR UNKNOWN
This World Is Not My Home
~Jim Reeves~
All music on our pages is for your listening pleasure,
personal enjoyment and evaluation purposes only.
Please support the artist's by
buying their music.
