There was a funeral – a memorial, really, the other day. The sister of a dear congregant had passed on and family were to gather to speak their memories and bid a shared good-bye.
Having no duties, I debated whether to go or not, as this was more a private affair. But I finally decided I would, simply to be present.
Over Jack Mountain I went to the church in Monterey where all would gather.
It was cold. Really cold. And as time passed, it became clear that the church’s furnace wasn’t working. So we retraced the path back over the mountain to the church I shepherd, merely because it was available and the furnace was still going (never a sure thing on days like this one).
Where I live, when the furnace breaks down, you just bundle up and head to another church and make do, as family simply roll with the punches.
A son and a daughter, aided by their own families, crafted a gathering of much love and laughter and unabashed tears and made do.
A pastor whose furnace had broken just got in his car and trekked to another space and made do.
Mourners waited patiently to see what would be decided and made do.
A pastor wanting to help, calls a congregant (because it’s the only number she can remember) who calls the post mistress next door to the church who runs over and turns up the furnace so it’ll be warm when the mourners arrive from over the mountain.
We were all making do, and it was fabulous, as Jane’s son Mike, through his own tears, laughingly ‘accused’ his mom of breaking the furnace from the great beyond, to have her final say about being sent off without any fuss, as all nodded their agreement that Jane had made them make do.
That’s where I live.
Having no duties, I debated whether to go or not, as this was more a private affair. But I finally decided I would, simply to be present.
Over Jack Mountain I went to the church in Monterey where all would gather.
It was cold. Really cold. And as time passed, it became clear that the church’s furnace wasn’t working. So we retraced the path back over the mountain to the church I shepherd, merely because it was available and the furnace was still going (never a sure thing on days like this one).
Where I live, when the furnace breaks down, you just bundle up and head to another church and make do, as family simply roll with the punches.
A son and a daughter, aided by their own families, crafted a gathering of much love and laughter and unabashed tears and made do.
A pastor whose furnace had broken just got in his car and trekked to another space and made do.
Mourners waited patiently to see what would be decided and made do.
A pastor wanting to help, calls a congregant (because it’s the only number she can remember) who calls the post mistress next door to the church who runs over and turns up the furnace so it’ll be warm when the mourners arrive from over the mountain.
We were all making do, and it was fabulous, as Jane’s son Mike, through his own tears, laughingly ‘accused’ his mom of breaking the furnace from the great beyond, to have her final say about being sent off without any fuss, as all nodded their agreement that Jane had made them make do.
That’s where I live.
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