The Best Is Yet To Come ~ Anchored In Him


 


The sound of Martha's voice on the other end of the telephone always brought a smile to pastor 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 wherever 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 had 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 that I want." The two talked quietly for a long time. They talked about Martha's favorite hymn's, 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 they had covered just about everything, Aunt Martie, paused, looked up at Jim with a twinkle in her eye and the 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 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 a 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." 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 of the good times we had together. That would be nice. But when they walk by my casket and look at my pretty blued 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


Unexpected changes are opportunities in disguise . . .


   




This World Is Not My Home
Jim Reeves
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