Woke up this morning and found myself asking, "Do I REALLY feel like attending that memorial service for my co-worker's mother?" I had planned to go... but the morning was overcast, rainy and cool; a great day for cherished introvert activities involving blankets, slippers, books - and perhaps that newish leather journal which hasn't yet lost its 'fresh paper' smell, and helps me keep dreaming of eventual motherhood.
I had searched my inner soul about a millimeter deep before retrieving the answer: of course I didn't feel like it! But, let's face it: life isn't always about what we feel like, right? I pulled out the toothbrush and curling iron and prepared for extroversion. Directions: printed. Dogs: pottied. Ed: dressed and coming with me (thank you SO much, my knight). It was when I found ourselves lost, making random guesses at 'right' or 'left' somewhere south of White Bear Lake, (since when are 120 and 35E the same road?!!?), 4 full minutes after the service had started, that Umbridge began to contribute her advice:
UMBRIDGE: You screwed up the directions and now you're going to be late. The deceased are never honored by late funeral attendees and neither are their grieving relatives. This wasn't meant to be. Go home.
BRUCE: I don't think being late has to be a show-stopper. You've come a long way and, down deep, you want to support your co-worker in her grief. Let's follow through with the caring... this is going to turn out just fine.
ME: (7.5 minutes late): "That's it - I'm going home."
ED (and his fancy-pants Blackberry GPS): "No wait - I got it; we're almost there."
We slipped in easily on the last verse of 'Holy, Holy, Holy'. The usher, (who seemed to be waiting for us), handed us an open hymnal, and we remained virtually undetected... until my cell phone went off!! (Thanks, Mom! ;-):
ME: CRAP!
UMBRIDGE: (Snicker)... genious.
BRUCE: Chill.
Long story shorter, it was a beautiful service and I was thankful to be there. My co-worker was gracious and blessed despite our noisy entrance...and somewhere in the middle of the pastor's comments, the thought occurred to me, "All of us are here in this room to make one final 'comment' on the blog (okay, life) of Mrs. Schendel."
It's true, isn't it? By participating in this one final earthly remembrance of someone's story, we're either saying, "I see you. I've heard your voice. And I acknowledge and celebrate the beauty of your story." Or, in the case of supporting grieving relatives, "I'm with you. I know you're hurting. And I meet you here to comment on this milestone post of yours, believing that the beauty of our stories will increase because we connected at this point."
Let's attend each other's funerals. Let's attend the funerals of people we don't even know because our friends have loved them. Let's comment on each other's stories, stubbornly insisting that God puts hope and purpose and beauty into life, and it increases when we connect with people. And (to those of you who love me), please help me remember when I forget that...
6 comments:
OK, here I am commenting on your story, and God sure put a lot of "hope, purpose, and beauty" into you, V. My favorite part of this post: "I see you. I've heard your voice. And I acknowledge and celebrate the beauty of your story." It's time to go dance barefoot on the dewy lawn at twilight. You and me, baby.
At my funeral, I want everyone to write out their comments. What a blog that will be!
But I'll be dancin' with Jesus so will I care how many comments I get? Hmmm.
I am so glad that you went....it shows so much love to those who are grieving. They won't remember that your cell phone went off, or that you were late...all that matters is that you were there. This was a beautiful post.
I'll DEFINITELY go to your funeral, Vondi! And you come to mine, k?
Wait a minute...
noothername - I KNEW you'd catch that! You got yourself a deal either way though... ;-)
I want people to celebrate at my funeral. I'll be celebrating,why shouldn't my "guests?"
I'm glad you went. You are a good friend.
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