Keep the Fork
The sound of Martha's voice on the other end of the telephone always brought
a smile to Brother Jim's face. She was not only one of the oldest members of the
congregation, but one of the most faithful. Aunt Martie, as all of the children
called her, just seemed to ooze faith, hope, and love wherever she went. This
time, however, there seemed to be an unusual tone to her words."Preacher, could
you stop by this afternoon? I need to talk with you." "Of course, I'll be there
around three. Is that ok?" It didn't take long for Jim to discover the reason
for what he had only sensed in her voice before. As they sat facing each other
in the quiet of her small living room.
Martha shared the news that her doctor had just discovered a previously
undetected tumor. "He says I probably have six months to live". Martha's words
were naturally serious, yet there was a definite calm about her. "I'm so sorry
to ..." but before Jim could finish, Martha interrupted. "Don't be. The Lord has
been good. I have lived a long life. I'm ready to go. You know that." "I know,"
Jim whispered with a reassuring nod. "But I do want to talk with you about my
funeral. I have been thinking about it, and there are things that I know I
want."
The two talked quietly for a long time. They talked about Martha's favorite
hymns, the passages of Scripture that had meant so much to her through the
years, and the many memories they shared from the five years that Jim had been
with Central Church.
When it seemed that they had covered just about everything, Aunt Martie paused,
looked up at Jim with a twinkle in her eye, and then added, "One more thing,
preacher. When they bury me, I want my old Bible in one hand and a fork in the
other".
"A fork?" Jim was sure he had heard everything, but this caught him by surprise.
"Why do you want to be buried with a fork?"
"I have been thinking about all of the church dinners and banquets that I
attended through the years," she explained, "I couldn't begin to count them all.
But one thing sticks in my mind,
"At those really nice get-togethers, when the meal was almost finished, a server
or maybe the hostess would come by to collect the dirty dishes. I can hear the
words now. Sometimes, at the best ones, somebody would lean over my shoulder and
whisper, 'You can keep your fork.' And do you know what that meant? Dessert was
coming! "It didn't mean a cup of Jell-O or pudding or even a dish of ice cream.
You don't need a fork for that. It meant the good stuff, like chocolate cake or
cherry pie! When they told me I could keep my fork, I knew the best was yet to
come!
"That's exactly what I want people to talk about at my funeral. Oh, they can
talk about all the good times we had together. That would be nice. "But when
they walk by my casket and look at my pretty blue dress, I want them to turn to
one another and say, 'Why the fork'? That's when I want you to say, I want you
to tell them, that I kept my fork because the best is yet to come!"
Author unknown. If anyone has a proprietary interest in this story please authenticate and I will be happy to credit, or remove, as the circumstances dictate.
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