February 20 – “Two hours”

This morning was definitely one for the books.  I did a memorial service on the beach.  That's not so unusual.  It was designed for scattering ashes in the ocean.  Also, something I have done before.  It was the people who made this one special.  The lady who died had been a mother and grandmother and fought cancer for a year.  Her son was, to put it mildly, "rough around the edges."  He lives in San Antonio, but grew up in Jamaica Beach.  His language and lifestyle both sounded crude, but his heart was huge.  When he arrived at the church he told me he had had a really rough spell earlier in the morning.  He didn't get much sleep last night either.  They borrowed some chairs, and we headed over to the beach.    He had set up an easel with a collage of pictures of his Mom.  There was a circle spray of flowers.  And there was a small table.  That table held the large box with the ashes and three small boxes he had made so each of his children could keep some of the ashes.  An orange blanket draped the table and hung over the front, proudly displaying the University of Texas logo.  And sitting top of the blanket were fifteen or twenty bottles of beer.  The son said he put a notice about the ceremony on his Facebook page.  He told everyone beer would be served, but only locals were welcome.  As far as I could tell he didn't have any uninvited guests show up for the libations.  The wind was cold and blowing, so they had used a very pretty metal cross with a crown of thorns around it as a stake to hold everything in place.  Hmm.  The cross held everything in place.  There must be a spiritual lesson in there somewhere.   As part of the service I asked if anyone would like to share a memory or a word of encouragement.  The son was to go first since he had prepared a poem.   So he did.  And he talked for a long time before he ever got around to sharing his poem.  His speech was laced with very crude language, and so was the poem, but every bit of what he said was a tribute to his mother, his family, and his friends.  When he finished his oldest son rose to speak.  Now, the oldest son looked to be around 14 or 15.  Come to find out, the dad just found out about him about five months ago.  Don't know that story.  It was that kid's brief speech that touched everyone.  He began by choking through tears, "I only knew my Granny for about two hours before she died …"  He ended with, "I wish I could have known her longer."  Now how can you not get caught up in that?   After the ceremony I was able to get in on the last few minutes of the Saturday morning prayer meeting at the church.  I was encouraged when we left.  If we can only see with God's eyes – with the eyes of hope – and in Hutch's words, "stick to the basics of the cross," we'll be able to see what he is doing around us.  That's one of the basics of Experiencing God: God is always at work around us.  If we say we can't see him, then something is wrong with our eyes - our hope - our faith.   Psalms 147:11 says, "the Lord delights in those who fear him, who put their hope in his unfailing love."   Father, awaken our hope.  Inspire our faith.  Do something that can only be described as happening because you did it.  Amen.