A Bend In The Road - Part 4

Back to the book... I had to take a little political detour.

From the last chapter.

(King) "...David says. "And I'll be in a land where joy is made full, and pleasure can be found at God's right hand."" p. 271

"I want to be here for the rapture of the church. Paul tells us, in 1 Thessalonians 4:16-17, that Christ will appear from heaven with a shout. I wouldn't mind being around to witness that event. I want to hear the trumpet Paul has foretold, and I want to see those graves open up and give forth their dead, who will joyfully race through the skies to rejoin their Creator and Redeemer. Then, as Paul says, "we who are alive and remain" (I'm counting on numbering myself among that group) will be caught up with Christ as well. It will be quite a spectacle!" p. 272

A story from pages 273-274 that many of us have heard before. When I have heard it before it was titled "Keep Your Fork."

I want to tell you about a woman who was a staunch and faithful church member. She was ravaged by illness, and no one expected her to live much more than another week or two.

She knew her day was approaching, and she called the pastor and asked him to come help her plan the funeral. So he joined her at her deathbed, and they began making arrangements. The ailing woman listed for him all the hymns she wanted sung, all the Scripture verses she wanted read, and those she preferred as the soloists.

Then she said, "Pastor, there's one thing I want you to do. You may feel this is strange, but I want you to promise me today that you'll fulfill my wishes anyway."

The pastor frowned mildly. "What's that?" he asked.

She said, "I want to be buried with a fork in my right hand."

The pastor's frown became deeper. This was quite an odd request. "That's a request I've never heard,: he said kindly, "but perhaps if you try to help me understand your reason, I can feel better about carrying out your request."

She said, "Pastor, I've been a member of our church for most of my life. And one of the great joys for me has been the potluck dinners we have. I don't think I've missed one dinner in my life. In the old days, we had them on a weekly basis. And what I remember best is how, after the first course was served, one of the hosts would always stand up and say, 'Save your fork. The best is yet to come!' So, pastor, I'm counting on you to bury me with a fork in my hand. When my loved ones pass by the casket and look at me, I want you to be standing nearby. Those people will ask you why I'm holding an eating utensil, and you;ll smile and tell them that for me, the best is yet to come."