Funerals and Weddings

My dad discovered my blog yesterday.  More like, he came to pester me while I was proof reading and recognized his own scribble handwriting on the screen.  Since then, he has been a bragging father sharing the url (which he still hasn't memorized) with his friends and colleagues.  He also printed yesterday's blog and made Mom read aloud it to my grandparents and sisters.  She almost made it all the way through, too.  However, all of this means I have to behave for the next few days while his friends investigate this site.  Sorry to disappoint but there will be no poop stories this week.  :-)

By the way, today my parents are celebrating their 24th wedding anniversary!

<>< Katie

The other day, I was standing in the church atrium with my favorite funeral director, Mark.  A wedding was about to take place, but we weren't there for the wedding.  We were loitering by the door.

"You know," Mark said, "there really is no difference between weddings and funerals.  I mean, there's a minister for both, and they're both an end.  The only difference is that one you're rolled in and the other you meander in."

I was kind of stunned by the pessimism in this statement, especially coming from someone as upbeat and fun-loving as Mark.  I feel the need to mention that he's happily married.  We kind of joked about it and moved on to joke about something else.

Later, I was thinking about our conversation again, and I realized he's right.  He failed to mention they both also involve crying and Mark greeting at the door.  In all seriousness, they are both an end.  But, at the same time, they are both a beginning.  A wedding is the beginning of a life together.  In the faith that Mark and I share, a funeral is the beginning of a new life, an eternal life.

It was only then that I realized Mark was not the first person to speak about weddings and funerals in the same way.  Jesus Himself did it.

In John 14, Jesus says, "Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in Me. In My Father's house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going."

Sounds to me like heaven-talk.  Funeral words.  Yes, but it's more.  It's a cultural thing we miss, but His listeners would have been befuddled.  This was wedding talk.

Max Lucado writes, "We Westerners might miss the wedding images, but you can bet your sweet chuppah that Jesus' listeners didn't.  This was a groom-to-bride promise.  Upon receiving the permission of both families, the groom returned to the home of his father and build a home for his bride.  He 'prepared a place'" (Fearless 118).

Lucado goes on to explain that Jesus puts funerals and weddings on the same platform.  They share the same hope.  When walking down the aisle, the excitement felt by the pallbearers should be the same as that felt by the bride.

I have never planned a wedding.  Neither have I a planned a funeral.  I pray I get the participate in the former before the latter.  However, if that is not the case, will I face them both with the same hope-filled anticipation? 

Just some food for thought.

<>< Katie

Put the Towel On

I love to be served. For someone to take care of my dishes at the end of a meal, to take out the garbage even though it's my turn, to have a glass of water and a blanket handed to me when I walk in the door. Sometimes it's because I'm lazy but more so it's because being served is how I feel loved.

While I love to be served, I need to make sure I'm serving as well. Regularly I need to ask myself: have I gotten dirty today? I'm not talking "Where is the hand sanitizer?" I'm talking, have I sacrificed some part of myself to help someone else? Have I put the towel on?

In John 13, Jesus' disciples are fighting over who will serve. More accurately, who will not serve. They've been out traveling and their feet are filled with grime. Yuck!

When supper's ready at my house Mom screams "W-A-S-H" and a stampede of elephants rushes to the bathroom to wash our hands. In Jesus' time, they washed feet before eating. Not because they ate with their toes but because they wore sandals and by the end of the day their feet were caked with dust, dirt, and whatever else happened in the street.

Since it was a dirty job, the feet-washing responsibility fell on the person with the lowest status. Can't you just hear the disciples? "I'm not doing it!" "EWW! I am NOT washing the poop out from between your toes!" "Not gonna happen."

While they're busy bickering about who is NOT going to do the dirty work, Jesus is in the other room changing His clothes. He comes out wearing a towel and bends down at the feet of His followers and begins scrubbing.

It might just be me but something doesn't add up in this passage. The is a job for the lowest person. Jesus is doing it. Jesus is God. Last time I checked, God is NOT the lowest on the totem pole. That's the point. Our God named Jesus was willing to become the least of these to serve His friends. Even His friend that would betray Him. He knew all this and He still put the towel on.

What about you? Have you put the towel on? Do me a favor and serve someone today. Oh, and don't do it because Katie said so. Don't even do it because it's your job. Do it out of love (you can decide whether for that person or for God).

Let me know how I can serve you,
<>< Katie

Cowstipation

Laugh if you want. Mock my upbringing. Tell me I'm easily amused. Be jealous. I don't really care. I promise, I'm not making this up and have taken no creative liberties. This made my day. The only thing that would have been better is if it'd taken away this headache.

After a wonderful lunch with some friends, I went to the post office and picked up a package. All of the sudden I heard this "MOOOOO."

Years ago in the grocery store, the milk aisle used to "moo" when you opened the door, but I don't remember requesting this feature be added to my mailbox.

I kind of turned around confused. If there had been a cow at the post office, I would not have been completely surprised. One of my family's favorite bedtime stories was the time Jenny the Cow visited Dad at school. However, there was no cow at the post office. I figured someone had to be playing a joke because that was a really good moo but no one was laughing.

Just smile and keep moooving before Melia thinks you're hallucinating and starts going nurse-crazy on you, I told myself, gently shaking my package to see if that was the source of the moo. Nope.

I tried not to think about it was we walked back to my apartment. When I put down the package, I heard it again.

MOOOOOO!

Ripping open the package, I began searching for the source of this delightful noise. Every time I put my hand in the box, it sounded again, but my hand always came out with chocolate. I'm not complaining but chocolate is kind of a disappointment when you're looking for a cow.

Finally, there he was: my beautiful, red and white Holstein mooing Valentines cow. Awesome! Actually, what makes it better is that it is a POOPING, MOOING cow! Estatic, I ran out to show Becca, who was not nearly as excited about this moo cow as I am. Becca doesn't really enjoy poop quite as much as I do, apparently. A pooping, mooing cow? How much better does this piece of plastic get?!

A lot, actually because my cow... well... has a problem. Ladies and gentlemen, I am now the proud owner of a red and pink, CONSTIPATED, mooing cow! Name suggestions welcome!

<>< Katie

PS: It's been a long day... After an hour and a half meeting with Dr. T, he looked at me and said, "Hang in there, Katie, and go take a nap." Normally he doesn't have to tell me that until Midterms and we're hardly three weeks into the semester. Oh snap!