101 years plus 9 months

This afternoon Bobby and I attended a liturgical funeral for a lady who was 3 months shy of 102.  Yep, you read that right.  She was 101 years, 9 months and 19 days young when she died.  And up until the ripe old age of 98, she walked 1/2 a mile to her church every Sunday morning and swam one mile every day.  Two of her granddaughters wrote poems for the program, and one of them read "How do you live to be 101?...You eat your veggies every day..." That made me laugh.

Liturgical services. Up until I married my husband, I had never been to one. I guess you could say he's broadened my horizons.  One thing I do like about them is garments that the preachers (for the Lutherans) and priests (for the Catholics) wear. Many of their rituals and movements, along with their garb, remind me of the readings from Leviticus and Deuteronomy about what the Levitical priests were supposed to wear and do. Sometimes I think we lose some of the formality and reverence we owe God because we Baptists have such informal services and dress.

And I was very tempted to take communion today (it was open to anyone who has been baptized) because I wanted to see what their communion wafers tasted like.  And they didn't drink from the cup, but dipped their wafer into the cup and then popped it in their mouth. But seeing as curiosity isn't a valid reason for "partaking" of the Lord's supper (and my dear understanding hubby was certain it wasn't Welch's in the cup), I refrained.

Normally I LOVE organ music, especially in a big church. Not quite so much today.  Perhaps it was the lack of a song director motioning when to sing, perhaps it was the slow droning pace (HOW can you sing such powerful songs as "A Might Fortress is Our God" and "The Church's One Foundation" at such a slow tempo?), but it was starting to get a little old.  Maybe I've had too much Contemporary Christian music in my diet, maybe it was Dave's harping on the choir ladies that when you focus too much on the notes it stops being a song and becomes a chant, but either way I was ready for the music to become more of a celebration for the hope we have in our Savior.

Stained glass windows- love, love, LOVE them!!!  I'm of the warped mind that says the tabernacle furniture was overlaid in gold, the tent itself was embroidered with all kinds of beautiful designs, so the building in which we worship should be decked out as well!  Today's windows were pretty, albeit different.  Modern art (as in abstract) would be the closest description I could give them. The stained glass window over the front of the church did make you think somewhat of the cross, or a crucifix, but it was only a resemblance and not a depiction. 

And responsive readings...that is one of the things I miss from my old, country, childhood church.  Although our hymnal had the readings interspersed in the hymnal, numbered correctly.  So when the bulletin said to turn to page 273, that was where you turned.  Today, I turned to page 273 and found "O Little Town of Bethlehem" and was quite surprised.  Turns out the front of the hymnal was the responsive reading pages and it has its OWN section of numbering.  Not quite sure how they expected me to figure that one out without instruction.

And as always (and has happened quite a bit lately), people come to me to ask what someone else needs. I appreciate the concern and willingness to help. That certainly is commendable.  But honestly, when a person is there who may need help, ASK THE PERSON!!!  And when I tell you "No" to your question, that's exactly what I mean!  There's really no need to ask me two more times, and then a third time in a different way.  They must have either taken persistence lessons from my mother or manners lessons from the Chinese.

So tomorrow I will gladly join my "family" at our own place of worship. Same Savior, different format.  And for me, it's what is both familiar and comforting.  There's something to be said for that.

the women of today

When I first moved to NC, Bobby informed me there were two women at church I would have to watch out for. One was five years old, and she thought Mr. Bobby was hers. I settled her distress at there being another "girlfriend" in his life by asking her to help with the wedding. The other woman was a little trickier. She was much older, considered herself the ultimate authority that mattered, and her closest friends called her by her childhood nickname of "Dick." Her first name was Gertrude (also known as Gertie). Somehow I couldn't even imagine calling her any of those names, so I simply settled on Mrs. Mullen. I tried to stay out of the way as she hobbled toward his chair to hang on as they exited the slightly steep ramp at church, and I cringed inside with every struggle her arthritic body faced, knowing one day that could be my Mom or perhaps even me. She was demanding, a pessimist, and fiercely loyal to those she loved. We also shared a birthday, which was fine as long as I was willing to cancel any plans we had not to miss HER party. Tonight I'll sadly perform the last favor for her...I'll play her favorite hymns at her funeral. Her granddaughter, whom she raised, is about my age and commented yesterday that she could picture her running in heaven. That startled me for a minute, but she's right. I had thought about the fact she is in no more pain; no more despair and feelings of uselessness, but it hadn't crossed my mind that her body is now new and whole. But probably sometime this weekend I'll eat both ice cream and a hot dog in memory of Bobby's old feisty girlfriend.

And on the upswing of life's roller coaster, I was TOTALLY shocked, curious, and EXCITED at McCain's choice of a running mate. So far I like everything I've read, and I have a feeling this race is truly only just beginning. I dread working the polls on election day, but I am truly excited for our country. As long as she doesn't shoot her hunting partners like Cheney did, I think she'll do well.

funeral homes

I know this is a really odd topic, but funeral homes here are a whole lot fancier than the ones we had at home growing up. Sometimes I feel as if I'm in a musuem instead of a place for mourning. Almost every one in the state of NC has had some type of huge glass display full of small birds, and all of them have had display cases of some sort of collectibles, whether it be model cars, porcelain dolls, ceramics, or old drawings of the town - they all are showplaces.

This afternoon we went to a funeral home in a nearby town, and one whole section of the funeral home is a display case for the old funeral hearse. It's the wagon part of a buggy that was modified to carry a coffin. It was very ornate, even though it was wooden, and had the most intricate carvings on it. The furniture inside, like most places here, was very fancy, but it was very old antiques (like the couch my Grandma White had forever and a decade).

The thing that really cracked me up...they had a playground for kids back behind the building. I actually think that was a neat thing. So many times I've known family members who had to stay behind to watch everyone's kids when they really wanted to be with everyone else. As a child I remember my uncle walking us down to the nearby Dairy Queen for ice cream. It was a nice break from all the somber grown-ups who would pat you on the head as if you were about to break. With a playground outside, parents could take their kids outside for a few minutes, yet still be close by to the family.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not opposed to funeral homes having nice furniture and collectibles and their large, family portraits up on the walls. It just seems a little strange, even if it is cool to look at.