The stories posted below are true. Or at least they were told to me as true. I get some great stories. The best ones have come from the people I love and ministered to for many years. These are stories that tug my lips into smiling and bless my heart. There are other stories that I can't tell here. Mainly because I don't know how to capture them on paper. Some things just have to be "told."
7/1/14
I did a funeral last week. It was the first one I've done since my mother's and it was back in the building I'd preached in for right at 22 years. I'm going to just use the real names here--but just the first names. Maybe I'll get around to correcting the other names eventually.
We called her "Lee" – not quite her actual name but close. Like "Jane Sweeten" (see below), she:
#1 had a marvelous laugh and
#2 was a notorious driver.
We shared a lot of stories about her driving. She'd run into (or over) a cow, a transmission, a schoolbus, 2 lightposts and one of her sons. One of the things we loved most about Lee was her laugh. It was hearty and joyful. She shared it generously and it raised our spirits.
During one sermon I mentioned one of the church members who was doing really good on her diet regimen. I think it is important to encourage people like that. You've probably seen how the preacher usually stands at the exit after services and sort of greets folks as they leave. That day I was "shaking people out the door" and Lee paused to say, "Gary, I wish you'd have told everybody that I was on a diet."
I said, "Lee, I didn't know you were on a diet."
She responded with "Well, I'm not. But if you'd have told everyone I was -- then I would have to be."
I think that's wise. Profound even.
FRANKIE -- This is one I didn't even get to attend.
For several years my regular job didn't allow me to travel for funerals. I didn't get to attend this funeral but I need to tell a story or two about Frankie.
Frankie is a girl. Well, she used to be a girl and then she grew up but I think she stayed a girl. Frankie entered my life because she happened to work for some of our church members. She was a pistol. She might even have been a pistol-packin' momma but I never asked about any handguns. I do know she was fun.
I started visiting Frankie's house when her husband got sick. He was fun, too. But not as fun as Frankie. Fred was tall. Frankie was not. Are you keeping all this straight? You see, Frankie was married to Fred. Fred died and I did the funeral and as sometimes happens my tongue tangled over my eyetooth and I couldn't see what I was saying. Anyway during the funeral I talked about our dear departed Frankie. Pretty easy to understand how that could happen isn't it? FRed and FRankie. They both start off the same. At any rate, Frankie's family was not amused. Frankie? She thought it was a hoot. Reminded me of the wedding where I presented the new couple as Mr. and Mrs. "Smith" -- but that was the wrong name. Not quite a Spoonerism but close.
One of Frankie's standard names for me was "SugarFoot." I think she called everybody that. Or at least her friends . . . I think she called me "SugarFoot" because I was her friend. If that's not right please don't correct me because I'm happy in my ignorance.
Frankie was kind of like a preacher in that she became a member of many families. She would befriend people and somehow enter "Family" status. So now, thinking about Frankie I start thinking about her families. Several of those have passed on ahead so now there are tears in my eyes. We moved the year my grandson was born. She never got to meet him. She never met his sister. But she would have loved them both. I bet she would have called them "SugarFoot," too.
* * *
[She] being dead, yet speaketh
There are too many stories. I can't tell all that I heard and certainly didn't hear all there were to tell. So, I'm going to have her speak for herself. What follows comes from a letter Hannah wrote after her daughter had given a speech about her to the Toastmaster's club.
"I must say that I was flattered and oh so grateful and honored at such kind words. You must not be so humble and feel so indebted. Everyone has a mother--they really are a very common commodity. They do come in various degrees of love and sacrifice so I guess it is true that they cannot be lumped together. I think I was of the she-wolf variety--still am, you know, 'don't touch my young un.'" . . .
"In your speech you were trying to make a point, but you must stand corrected on a thing or two. You said your mother was never “President of the PTA.” Well kid, whoever invented that old PTA joke must have meant me. It seems a lady approaching middle age was sick at the stomach. Her children were already grown and scattered out. After the examination her doctor informed her that she had a little one on the way. She started crying and the kind doctor tried to console her by saying: "Oh that isn't so bad, sometimes one enjoys the last one more than the first." She replied: "Oh Doctor, it isn't the baby--it's that darn PTA all over again."
"I think I am famous for a recipe. Once after I had served my time in PTA, the hospitality chairman didn't show up so they called me on short notice and asked if I could prepare refreshments for a special meeting they were having for the Board of Education. I agreed and began to look around to see what I could find. I had recently had a party for some politco and had a batch of punch left over. I put it in a bucket and froze it. It was spiked with vodka, but I thought the freezing had probably decreased the alcohol, instead I think it got stronger. Anyhow, I emptied this big ball of red ice in the punch bowl and poured a big can of pineapple juice over it. By hospitality time it had blended together. Oh what a punch! Hardly anyone drank coffee--they loved the good fruit punch. Soon, everyone got happy--several school board members were also deacons in the Baptist church. Well it's a long story-- one I've kept to myself. But I did have a lot of requests for the recipe of that good old PTA punch. . . "
The hat lady
Cherie Hopkins was the wife of Lt. Hopkins listed below. She served a number of years as a hospice chaplain and the number of folks in attendance at her funeral demonstrated the impact Cherie made. Cherie really didn't like to talk on the phone but she'd be happy to send an email or even a small post-a-note by snail mail. Most of the ones to me were signed "that Hopkins woman." I had never realized that someone else had applied that title to her and I surely never imagined that it was a pejorative term. It seems that in the early 70's Cherie was writing for a newspaper in a small East Texas town. Some of the residents got the idea that she was trying to get their kids to use marijuana and wrote letters to the editor about "that Hopkins woman." I know that Cherie was all for expanding young minds but I doubt seriously that she would encourage that route.
After the aneurism burst, tests showed very little brain function so friends and family began to prepare for her passing. Her Facebook page was a great place for folks to express their gratitude for ways Cherie had blessed them. In reading through those notes I wondered what sort of world it would be where people shared those blessings before death came knocking.
What a special laugh – a lilting laugh she had.
In her younger years she drove a 1950 Chevy with a very heavy foot on the accelerator. At one point somebody pulled out in front of her and her brother caught her off-hand remark: “That must be the stupidest person around. I’d never pull out in front of me.”
I was always amazed at the tender care that her husband gave. He took such good care of her. I think she fretted because he didn’t take as good care of himself as he did of her.
I like the way her husband said it yesterday: “We’re all better people for knowing Jane Sweeten."
Crusty on the outside
One of the hardest things for me as the preacher was handling benevolence requests. Walt Wright’s philosophy was to go ahead and help. This isn’t what you would have expected when you first met him. Walt had a crusty exterior. But his advice was always to go ahead and help. If the person was lying, God would handle that. One night Walt was late to his regular card game. A request for a place to stay was making him even later so he chose to save time by dropping the homeless fellow off at a motel on the way to the bridge game. When he told the bridge group that he’d just rented a room for a vagrant at the Green Acres he took quite a razzing. It seems that Green Acres was well known as a house of ill repute. This caused Walt, a widower, to remember that the proprietress had commented on how impressed she was that a church would pay for someone’s overnight stay at her place.
On his way home from the bridge game Walt realized that the vagrant’s backpack was still in the back seat of his car. He called one of the church members in the middle of the night to say: “If anyone sees my car at Green Acres tonight, I’m just returning that man’s backpack.”
During World War II, he started his military tour as a machine gunner where he became skilled enough to sign his name with machine gun fire.
7/1/14
I did a funeral last week. It was the first one I've done since my mother's and it was back in the building I'd preached in for right at 22 years. I'm going to just use the real names here--but just the first names. Maybe I'll get around to correcting the other names eventually.
We called her "Lee" – not quite her actual name but close. Like "Jane Sweeten" (see below), she:
#1 had a marvelous laugh and
#2 was a notorious driver.
We shared a lot of stories about her driving. She'd run into (or over) a cow, a transmission, a schoolbus, 2 lightposts and one of her sons. One of the things we loved most about Lee was her laugh. It was hearty and joyful. She shared it generously and it raised our spirits.
During one sermon I mentioned one of the church members who was doing really good on her diet regimen. I think it is important to encourage people like that. You've probably seen how the preacher usually stands at the exit after services and sort of greets folks as they leave. That day I was "shaking people out the door" and Lee paused to say, "Gary, I wish you'd have told everybody that I was on a diet."
I said, "Lee, I didn't know you were on a diet."
She responded with "Well, I'm not. But if you'd have told everyone I was -- then I would have to be."
I think that's wise. Profound even.
FRANKIE -- This is one I didn't even get to attend.
For several years my regular job didn't allow me to travel for funerals. I didn't get to attend this funeral but I need to tell a story or two about Frankie.
Frankie is a girl. Well, she used to be a girl and then she grew up but I think she stayed a girl. Frankie entered my life because she happened to work for some of our church members. She was a pistol. She might even have been a pistol-packin' momma but I never asked about any handguns. I do know she was fun.
I started visiting Frankie's house when her husband got sick. He was fun, too. But not as fun as Frankie. Fred was tall. Frankie was not. Are you keeping all this straight? You see, Frankie was married to Fred. Fred died and I did the funeral and as sometimes happens my tongue tangled over my eyetooth and I couldn't see what I was saying. Anyway during the funeral I talked about our dear departed Frankie. Pretty easy to understand how that could happen isn't it? FRed and FRankie. They both start off the same. At any rate, Frankie's family was not amused. Frankie? She thought it was a hoot. Reminded me of the wedding where I presented the new couple as Mr. and Mrs. "Smith" -- but that was the wrong name. Not quite a Spoonerism but close.
One of Frankie's standard names for me was "SugarFoot." I think she called everybody that. Or at least her friends . . . I think she called me "SugarFoot" because I was her friend. If that's not right please don't correct me because I'm happy in my ignorance.
Frankie was kind of like a preacher in that she became a member of many families. She would befriend people and somehow enter "Family" status. So now, thinking about Frankie I start thinking about her families. Several of those have passed on ahead so now there are tears in my eyes. We moved the year my grandson was born. She never got to meet him. She never met his sister. But she would have loved them both. I bet she would have called them "SugarFoot," too.
* * *
[She] being dead, yet speaketh
There are too many stories. I can't tell all that I heard and certainly didn't hear all there were to tell. So, I'm going to have her speak for herself. What follows comes from a letter Hannah wrote after her daughter had given a speech about her to the Toastmaster's club.
"I must say that I was flattered and oh so grateful and honored at such kind words. You must not be so humble and feel so indebted. Everyone has a mother--they really are a very common commodity. They do come in various degrees of love and sacrifice so I guess it is true that they cannot be lumped together. I think I was of the she-wolf variety--still am, you know, 'don't touch my young un.'" . . .
"In your speech you were trying to make a point, but you must stand corrected on a thing or two. You said your mother was never “President of the PTA.” Well kid, whoever invented that old PTA joke must have meant me. It seems a lady approaching middle age was sick at the stomach. Her children were already grown and scattered out. After the examination her doctor informed her that she had a little one on the way. She started crying and the kind doctor tried to console her by saying: "Oh that isn't so bad, sometimes one enjoys the last one more than the first." She replied: "Oh Doctor, it isn't the baby--it's that darn PTA all over again."
"I think I am famous for a recipe. Once after I had served my time in PTA, the hospitality chairman didn't show up so they called me on short notice and asked if I could prepare refreshments for a special meeting they were having for the Board of Education. I agreed and began to look around to see what I could find. I had recently had a party for some politco and had a batch of punch left over. I put it in a bucket and froze it. It was spiked with vodka, but I thought the freezing had probably decreased the alcohol, instead I think it got stronger. Anyhow, I emptied this big ball of red ice in the punch bowl and poured a big can of pineapple juice over it. By hospitality time it had blended together. Oh what a punch! Hardly anyone drank coffee--they loved the good fruit punch. Soon, everyone got happy--several school board members were also deacons in the Baptist church. Well it's a long story-- one I've kept to myself. But I did have a lot of requests for the recipe of that good old PTA punch. . . "
The hat lady
Cherie Hopkins was the wife of Lt. Hopkins listed below. She served a number of years as a hospice chaplain and the number of folks in attendance at her funeral demonstrated the impact Cherie made. Cherie really didn't like to talk on the phone but she'd be happy to send an email or even a small post-a-note by snail mail. Most of the ones to me were signed "that Hopkins woman." I had never realized that someone else had applied that title to her and I surely never imagined that it was a pejorative term. It seems that in the early 70's Cherie was writing for a newspaper in a small East Texas town. Some of the residents got the idea that she was trying to get their kids to use marijuana and wrote letters to the editor about "that Hopkins woman." I know that Cherie was all for expanding young minds but I doubt seriously that she would encourage that route.
After the aneurism burst, tests showed very little brain function so friends and family began to prepare for her passing. Her Facebook page was a great place for folks to express their gratitude for ways Cherie had blessed them. In reading through those notes I wondered what sort of world it would be where people shared those blessings before death came knocking.
What a special laugh – a lilting laugh she had.
In her younger years she drove a 1950 Chevy with a very heavy foot on the accelerator. At one point somebody pulled out in front of her and her brother caught her off-hand remark: “That must be the stupidest person around. I’d never pull out in front of me.”
I was always amazed at the tender care that her husband gave. He took such good care of her. I think she fretted because he didn’t take as good care of himself as he did of her.
I like the way her husband said it yesterday: “We’re all better people for knowing Jane Sweeten."
Crusty on the outside
One of the hardest things for me as the preacher was handling benevolence requests. Walt Wright’s philosophy was to go ahead and help. This isn’t what you would have expected when you first met him. Walt had a crusty exterior. But his advice was always to go ahead and help. If the person was lying, God would handle that. One night Walt was late to his regular card game. A request for a place to stay was making him even later so he chose to save time by dropping the homeless fellow off at a motel on the way to the bridge game. When he told the bridge group that he’d just rented a room for a vagrant at the Green Acres he took quite a razzing. It seems that Green Acres was well known as a house of ill repute. This caused Walt, a widower, to remember that the proprietress had commented on how impressed she was that a church would pay for someone’s overnight stay at her place.
On his way home from the bridge game Walt realized that the vagrant’s backpack was still in the back seat of his car. He called one of the church members in the middle of the night to say: “If anyone sees my car at Green Acres tonight, I’m just returning that man’s backpack.”
During World War II, he started his military tour as a machine gunner where he became skilled enough to sign his name with machine gun fire.
