Funeral Planning
Hey, Daddy?
Yes, Baby.
Can I ask You a weird question?
Aren’t they usually?
Very funny. Okay, so my friend’s husband is with you now. He was my age. My other friend who just got a terminal diagnosis is only two years older than me… by the way, I still have that crazy faith kind of feeling that you’re going to do something amazing about that! Another friend of mine is younger than me and she’s fighting cancer with chemo and surgeries, and I really hope she’s also fighting by thanking You for her healing, but I’m starting to understand how, when we start getting a little older, we start thinking about our mortality.
I’m only 44 but when our days are numbered and we don’t know what that number is, I’m starting to understand we always need to be ready.
I’m beginning to think about my end in a slightly different way than I used to. Don’t get me wrong. I still want my family and friends to put the “fun” back in “funeral!” I still hope that my memorial service is filled with more laughter than tears, more joy than sorrow, more hope than despair and more color than black, but I want more.
I want to know that it wouldn’t take a sermon at the service for anyone who has ever met me to hear the name of Jesus for the first time. I want to know for sure that my husband and kids could smile knowing with certainty that I am in a better place, their names are also on the guest list, and I’m saving the best seats at the back of the room for them.
I don’t fear death. In a not really morbid and not very urgent way, I welcome it. I understand that to live, for me, is to live for Christ and that, in doing so, to die will be gain, but for the first time in my life I can say I feel like my life has really just begun.
I long for Home in the way I imagine a lost puppy does in the driving rain. I long for Home in the way I imagine soldiers do when they rest their heads on their pillows in war torn countries. They see so much death and destruction every day and long for the comfort and security of Home.
Thank You that I can sit with You now, close my eyes, and enjoy the comfort and security of home when I talk to You!
They say if you want to live a meaningful life, you should begin with the end in mind. Our church has a discipleship booklet that encourages you to write your eulogy. Think about what you hope will be said about you when you die.
Keeping in mind that my earthly accomplishments and the possessions I have accumulated will all soon be forgotten, I’m starting to think that outside of knowing, loving, serving, and honoring you, there’s not much more that matters.
I know that people will say nice things about me. I know they love me. Many admire and respect me. I know they will mention how much I love you! I hope Tiffany shares the story about when Aiden learned about the concept of boys and girls making out. “Sometimes when boys and girls really love each other, they kiss and make out.” Six-year-old Aiden said that when Miss Donna dies, the first thing she’s going to do is make out with Jesus because she REALLY loves Jesus! I can just imagine the face ten-year-old Mason made when he smugly responded, “I don’t think that’s how that works, Aiden.”
I’m not concerned with what people will say about me. Day by day, I’m becoming more interested in what You would say.
So here’s my weird question: if You were to be the one to give my eulogy, what would You say?
Here lies my good and faithful servant…
Very funny. Seriously…
Why are y’all crying? She’s at a party. This [I’d point to the bag of bones in the casket] was just a vehicle. They get rusty. They leak…”
Haha. Very funny! About that… thank You for healing the prolapse. I was thinking maybe we could work on the leaking next?
We’ll get to that.
Anyway… they get rusty, they leak, and eventually they break down for a final time and all of them end up in the junkyard. You guys put so much thought into cosmetic care of these things that often the engine wears out prematurely.
About that. Yesterday you drank a smoothie for breakfast and told me you wanted to leave alone all of the junk food they would be serving at church. Do you remember how many cups of donut holes you ate yesterday?
No?
Why are your eyes filling up with tears?
You heard Me say, “Stop,” and you didn’t, so when I started talking about your friends at your funeral not taking care of their engines and the cars breaking down prematurely, you started feeling guilty. You tensed up. Your face flushed red and your eyes filled with tears.
About that, I’m sorry, Daddy. I can’t tell you how many. I am pretty sure I had three cups before service and, when my friend’s husband came around, I ended up having another… and when he passed by, I grabbed another.
How many did you have at the Saturday night service?
You don’t even want to say, because now you’re thinking about the pack of Rolos you topped all those donuts off with. Forget I asked that question. I’ve got another for you: how many times, with all of those cups, did you feel the pause in your spirit when I was nudging you to look the other way?
Every time.
So… back to this funeral scenario. Do you want Me to point to your vehicle as an example of one that was well-cared for or one that was neglected and riddled with disease from a lifetime of disobedience?
I’m trying. I’m doing way better than I used to.
Is that really what you want to say about it?
No. I want to say I’m sorry.
Don’t. Don’t do that. Be done doing that. Your words are cheap. I’ve heard those words one too many times in this area and they are not words from a repentant heart but from a mind that hopes by saying them I will honor your weak-minded will in this area with health your decisions do not support. Either you want to be healthy or you don’t mind average health. Your actions speak loudly of the second option.
You want to say something. Don’t. I’ve told you diabetes, obesity, and premature death are down the road you keep veering off on and I won’t say it again.
Back to this imaginary funeral scenario. Do you want Me to leave the part out about taking care of the vehicle? Or do you want Me to make an impression with your friends and family about the importance of taking care of theirs?
You can leave it in, and I don’t want you to stop talking to me about mine.
Well, as you always advise young parents with stubborn kids, parents have to pick their battles wisely. Remember the story your mom tells about how in second grade, you dressed so poorly that your school teacher called your mom in for a parent-teacher conference and asked if she and your dad were having trouble at home because it looked like no one was seeing how you left the house?
Your mom just laughed and said, “Donna is stubborn and she has her own sense of style and what she chooses to wear is one of the battles her dad and I decided not to fight.” She knew you left the house with mismatched socks, plaid pants, and a neon tie-dye shirt. You weren’t doing anything morally wrong. She had tried to guide you into more aesthetically pleasing options but you wouldn’t have it. You liked what you liked and that was that.
Consider this your second-grade daddy-daughter conference. Spiritually and morally, you’re understanding My ways. You’re obedient in so many areas and, as you continue to mature spiritually, you will naturally mature in how you care for your body. You won’t care for your body as a second-grader forever but, if you’re bent on disobedience in this area that is not a matter of Heaven and hell, I’ll let you be disobedient and you will live with the consequences.
This is NOT what I had in mind when I asked my question.
Did you want Me to list out your accomplishments? Name all the seeds you planted in that little hut of yours and tell everyone what happened with those seeds? Do you want credit for your obedience? Do you want a post-mort pat on the back? Go ahead… look it up.
Post-mort = short for postmortem; an examination of a dead body to determine the cause of death
No one needs to know about that little hut. No one needs to be told you spent your life planting seeds because there will not be one person there with whom you didn’t plant seeds. They will tell the stories of the seeds planted in their lives for years to come but, as those stories fade and your memory fades in coming generations, the seeds that reproduced in the lives of those you planted will be planted into future generations.
This world is full of genetically modified seeds being planted which are growing a contaminated harvest - but the seed you’re planting is organic and non-GMO. I like what you just found: “Organic seeds are non-GMO which means that these seeds cannot be modified genetically in any way. However, you can produce hybrids using organic seeds by cross-pollinating with other varieties to get the best attributes of each variety.”
This is a good way of describing your disdain for Christian denominations. You are all getting bits and pieces of faith right and that’s okay. That is why humility in faith is so important. That’s what I was trying to explain to you about the cookbook. Don’t trash-talk other recipes. Just encourage people to only shop for ingredients in My Word.
Daddy, I liked Your first answer. If You could honestly stand in front of my friends and family at my funeral and say, “Well done, My good and faithful servant,” I would be honored.
Well, Little One, I don’t lie. Back to bed!
I LOVE you,
Daddy
Matthew 25:19-21
