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Last Words (Vol. 4, No. 34)

It promised to be a unique funeral – and long.  Six members of family and friends of the departed were slated to share memories.  That prospect usually draws a shudder from most last rites attendees.  But last Saturday’s service was different.

For one thing, the jazz band out front playing “When the Saints Go Marching In” was something I had not experienced at a West Texas funeral.  Nor had I even attended such an occasion in a basketball arena before.  But I wanted to be here to offer support for the family.

And I wanted to see if the things that were said at this somber occasion squared with my memories of the man we came to honor.

You see, Charles was a rapscallion.  He was the kind of guy who would do strange things to get attention.  And while some of those oddities were personally vexing to me, I came to know that the attention Charles was seeking was not for him, but for some greater issue.  More often than not, an issue that was also important to me.

Many things were said over the course of that Saturday afternoon.  Charles was a storyteller’s storyteller.  But to hear these stories told on him was a special treat.  Given my somewhat warped sense of humor and having shared some of the coarse world of a lawyer with Charles, I was driven to tears of laughter over one of the narratives.

Charles’ good friend, Doug, painted the picture.  Charles diving across the first base line in pursuit of the softball.  The runner, intent on making it to first, diving headlong into the base.  The intersection of their bodies at a spot several feet off the ground.  The runner’s head crashing into Charles’ outstretched legs. Charles spinning … crashing … laying in a heap in the dust as the crowd gathered around. 

The story played on a little longer.  But it brought to Doug’s mind a thought Charles had shared.  “I hope to go peacefully.  I would hate it if my last words weren’t repeatable.”

I suppose that’s when the first of the tears edged my eyes.  While the humor of the statement caused me to choke my laughter, the importance of a greater issue confronted us all.

When it’s all over, will our “last words” be repeatable?

On the afternoon of Charles’ service, his “last words” bore repeating.  I never heard what the actual syllables were.  Yet, I heard over and again of the impact Charles had on those around him.  Even though the time I shared with him was short compared to others, I had benefited in some tremendous ways.

“Success” experts tell us that one of the best ways to sort through who we want to be is to spend a little time writing our own obituaries.  The idea is that forming a picture of what will be said helps us to become the essence of those thoughts.  I wrote that obituary once.  Unfortunately, on review I think I started writing 20 years too late.

Divinely, God helps us here.  He is the great Author of our lives.  He makes masterpieces out of our messes.  He grows huge love from small seeds of kindness.  He covers us all with mercy and grace.  And, importantly, he scoops out great portions of that mercy and grace for us to use with others.  If only every one of us would take advantage of that special gift.

Are you a little fearful of what your last words might be?  Just make sure that you have a handful of his mercy and grace.  Your last words will be flavored and rich – and held dear by all.

Shine On!

copyright 2004 Joe L. Cope