When I was visiting my parents in Louisiana in March of this year, my mom planned her funeral. She had started filling out a book about her plans a few years ago, but this time she was serious about the details. She thoroughly enjoyed the process of choosing hymns, pallbearers, musicians, etc. It was a good day, and she was feeling well.
At the time of her planning, we didn’t know that a month later, on April 5, 2023, she would pass away.
While she was thinking and talking about her service, she suddenly looked at me and said, “I want you to speak at my funeral.” I was very surprised and told her I didn’t know if I could. She didn’t relent.
“O.K., I’ll stand up and recite my favorite poem you wrote,” I said. Mom was known for her poetry, and she knew my favorite one. She agreed that would be fine.
“A frog and a spider went out one day
to write a story and then to play.
But the frog wanted food more than a friend,
so he ate the spider and wrote, “The End!”
Her poetry was a gift she shared with many people throughout her life. She was often asked to write a poem for a special occasion for someone, which she gladly did. As I looked through her writings after she passed, I was amazed at how many poems she wrote for people.
Being a pastor’s wife, a church secretary, and working at the Louisiana Baptist Convention for many years, she had plenty of opportunities to get material for her poems! I don’t know who she wrote this one about, but a friend remembers being in a meeting with Mom when she wrote this one:
“Behold, the speaker standeth, Behold, the speaker speaketh.
He said he draweth from ‘the Well,’ I think his bucket leaketh!”
Mom’s faith was the most important thing to her, and she often wrote about it. Thirty-six years ago at Easter, she wrote this:
“Let us dwell not on Jesus’ pain, Nor call attention to His foes.
Let us be glad and rejoice today! Jesus, our Savior, arose!”
At the end of speaking at her service, I told the congregation I was going to take the advice she gave in this poem:
“If you’re asked to speak a word, and your ideas begin to click,
Just remember they said, ‘a word.’ Speak up and sit down quick!”
We miss you, Mom. But knowing we will meet again makes all the difference.
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