I didn’t notice the hardness of the pew where I sat. I was at the funeral of my dearest friend - Mother. She lost the long battle with cancer. The hurt was so intense. Always supportive, mother clapped loudest at my school plays, comforted me at my father’s death, and prayed for me my entire life. When mother’s illness was diagnosed, my sister had a new baby, my brother had recently married his childhood sweetheart, so it fell on me, the middle child without entanglements, to take care of her. I was an honour.
“What now, Lord?” I asked. My life stretched out before me. My brother sat staring 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. No one noticed I sat alone. My place had been with our mother, doing everything to and with her; now she was gone. My work was finished, I was alone.
A door open and slam shut at the back of the church, quick footsteps followed. 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, unnecessarily. After several eulogies, he leaned over and commented, “Why do they keep calling Mary by the name of ‘Margaret’?”
“That was her name, Margaret. Not Mary. No one called her ‘Mary,’ I whispered. I wondered why he didn't chose anywhere else to sit. He interrupted my grieving with his tears and fidgeting. “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, I replied..” “Isn’t this the Lutheran church?” “No, the Lutheran church is across the street.” “Oh.” “I believe you’re at the wrong funeral, Sir.” His 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 confused man beside me. He was laughing, too, as he glanced around, deciding it was too late for an uneventful exit.
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 smiled. 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 twenty-second 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.”
Those who mothers are still alive don't be too busy to honour, care and be there for them as much as you can.
Every situation is carefully allowed or orchestrated by God Almighty for His divine purpose to find expression in our lives. As we celebrate mothers and a New Month, remember to do all you do with a mindset of "as unto God", and to every expectant lady I say your "Rick" will show up. Happy New Month.
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