The Pen and the Scythe

I went to a funeral today. A friend's mother passed away. She was 64. He was always talkative and solid guy. Not book smart, but sharp and wise. He's a family man.

At the funeral, under the warm, clear sky, I couldn't say a word. I signed the card that was passed around work. I said what I could in there. Whatever is written is never enough, but the only way to write is to remember who it is for. In this case, it WILL not be enough. However, if the words and sentiment can bring a moment of comfort, then they have done their job.

The preacher quoted the "Prairie Home Companion" while speaking directly to the grandchildren. He talked about a "storm home", where the children of Lake Woebegone stayed when the snow cut off the roads and couldn't go home. He told the children that their grandmother had gone to her storm home in Heaven and quoted a Psalm where there he talked about a city where there is a foundation and walls made by God. And where Jesus prepares rooms for people and there was one for their grandmother.

The preacher sounded a little bit like Garrison Keillor, while his words were more hushed that huge, he tried to comfort the children, who needed it the most. Here were simple words at their best, performing the miracle of connecting human sorrow. That sounds can connect human hearts really is amazing.