Dying Happy

I cried, a lot, yesterday. I laughed, a lot, yesterday. One of our dear, old brothers, Carl Allen, died Friday. At his funeral, yesterday, his children remembered him as a father who always had time for them; always encouraged them; always made them laugh. His youngest daughter, Ginny, told of walking with her parents through an old family cemetery—she and her father a few yards ahead of her mom.
A moving glint of black caused Ginny to ask, “Was that a snake.”
“We’ll know in a minute,” Carl said.
Frantic screams from her mother.
“Yes, that was a snake.”

Bruce gave the eulogy and remarked that it is much easier to speak at some funerals than others, and that Carl’s was one of the easier ones. We all know where Carl stands with Jesus, saved by grace; and we all know, by grace, we will see Carl again—arms and smile spread wide.

I was laughing and crying again last night. Two reasons: First, we were treated to a joyous, moving, slide presentation and talk from a mission team member who recently returned from Costa Rica. Secondly, that member represents a minority never allowed to speak in front of the full congregation before. Susan Campbell is female. FEMALE! And she did our gender proud.

Bruce pointed out that we had been edified by one of our female members, in case nobody noticed—since we met in the fellowship hall and had cookies and coffee. But it was a Wednesday night between seven and eight o’clock. That makes it official.

I can die happy.