They may forget what you said, but they will never forget how you
made
them feel.
--Carl W. Buechner

God doesn't make mistakes. He puts us where we are to be.

THE WRONG FUNERAL

They say there are no mistakes, for everything there is a purpose.
Makes you think. Enjoy! We'll never know where our paths will take
us!

***ANBSOLUTE MUST READ**TRUST ME

This is really beautiful...God is not sleeping.

Consumed by my loss, I didn't notice the hardness of the pew 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 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 solemnness 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. "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."