Laughter what a Medicinal Cure…

As broken, broken-hearted, as I am and feel I was able to smile and laugh for a few reasons today…

First, my Baby Boy informed me that he is considering moving…moving to the Great White to be with me, with Us his Other Family!  Though this is not the first time he has expressed interest, nor will it be the first time he asks his Father if he can stay with Us – to which his Father gave a definite and painful NO, and yes, I am his Mother too, but I refuse to fight a dirty fight and hurt my son deeply and emotionally – this time I have hope that since he is getting older and since he is collecting “data” and Hard Evidence as to why he should  move up North, I am hopeful that this time he may just stay with Us!

Next, my Beautiful Pumpkin Princess also wants to spend more time with me!  She is considering – though it probably won’t happen, but the mere fact she is even pondering – transferring to the Great White to finish her University Studies!

And finally, my Mom sent me this email that I have to share with you that is so tender and sweet…oh, and funny too:

THERE is no better test of character than the way a person treats the last, the lost and the least.  Have a blessed day!

  

 Consumed by my loss, I didn’t notice the hardness of the pew (bolded by me, thought it was too cute!) 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 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.’ ‘Oh.’ ‘I believe you’re at the wrong funeral, Sir.’

The solemness 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 said, smiling. 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 22nd 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, and are not ashamed of 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 to be.
— 

Favorite Quote:  

“I’m always doing that which I cannot do in order that I may learn how to do it”….Pablo Picasso