Funeral Ponderings and Proverbs 31

Today I went to Dorothy's funeral.

Dorothy and her husband, Paul, always sat on the left aisle of the sanctuary, 2/3 of the way toward the front.  Dorothy had the enviable quality of staying petite and cute and dark-haired well into her older years.  I mean, I guess it's possible that she discreetly colored her hair, but I don't think so.

We note that "Paul and Dorothy Stutzman" can easily be confused with "Paul and Dorcas Smucker" which has caused some interesting misunderstandings over the years, like the time someone heard that I was in the hospital with a broken hip.

There are two types of farm wives in this area: the kind who work in the fields, and the kind who don't.  And women tend to be kind of all-or-nothing about this, for reasons we've never figured out.

Dorothy helped in the fields.  In fact, she told me once, she used to drive the seed truck all day, and somehow she'd fix meals in between loads, and then she'd come home and can peaches until 2 in the morning.

Today the tributes to her focused on how she served others through hard work, cooking, baking, flowers from her garden, and having guests over.  Proverbs 31 was quoted.

If you are all modern, you might sniff and say that is pretty shallow stuff to be remembered for.

If you were on the receiving end of her meals or flowers, you would not say that.

When I was pregnant with Jenny, Dorothy would come and get my dirty laundry and wash it.  That is no small service.

After the funeral I was feeling kind of sad about the fact that when I die, the pastor will most likely steer away from Proverbs 31 and any mention of cooking and hospitality.

I told Paul this.  (Paul Smucker, not Paul Stutzman).

He laughed and hugged me and said I will be remembered for a lot of other things besides cooking that have significance and value.

That is what husbands are supposed to say at such a time.

But wow, wouldn't it be nice to be good at everything?  And have the time and energy to do it all?

They'd never get done talking at our funeral.

But here we are, limited by all manner of...limitations.  Stuff we simply can't do, or do badly if we try, or have no natural ability for.

So, how would it be if I just do what I can, rather than what I wish I could?  How about I do well what I enjoy and do well, and don't try to do badly what others do well?  How about we all try that?

Obviously, even I have to cook, and I have learned to do it reasonably well.  But I'm talking about the stuff we actually make decisions about, to do this vs. that.

How about we do what we can?

Like the lady in Mark 14:8-- "She hath done what she could..." which was dumping a precious perfume--"spikenard"-- on Jesus's head.

You get the feeling this lady wasn't winning any prizes at the fair for her apple pies or organizing fundraisers for cancer patients or getting promoted at H&RBlock.  People looking on implied that she was a few peach halves short of a full quart.

But Jesus rose up in her defense and not only told the criticizers to be quiet and leave her alone, but  "Wheresoever this gospel shall be preached throughout the whole world, this also that she hath done shall be spoken of for a memorial of her."

Which is pretty astonishing if you think about it--seriously? for pouring perfume on his head?  And hearing that would be even better than knowing ahead of time that they'll say at your funeral that you always had homemade cookies waiting.

There's a little of that spikenard lady in all of us, and I picture us, feeling watched and disapproved of and kind of dumb, and just doing the one thing we can do--baking the cookies or teaching the math or painting the wall or even writing the post, because we love Jesus and this is one thing we can actually do.

And then Jesus looks around at the disapprovers and says, Leave her alone.  She has done what she could.  "And then he looks at us and says, with love and approval, "This what you did will be spoken of for a memorial of you."

I hope the tribute at all of our funerals is not that we tried to cook like Dorothy or decorate like Sharon or teach like Trish, but that we did what WE could, and we did it well, and it mattered.