THE BEST IS YET TO COME
One of the senior members of the church telephoned to say that her doctor had told her that she had a melanoma, and wanted me to come talk with her. She said that she wanted to be buried with a fork in her hand. She didn’t look like a large woman who was especially interested in eating, so I said nothing and waited. “Don’t you want to know why?” “Yes! Tell me.” “I was reading a book by the Reverend Glen H. Asquith in which he said that he had been to many church dinners — good, bad, indifferent. But every church dinner takes on an entirely different complexion when someone comes and leans over your shoulder and whispers, ‘Keep your fork.’ This means that something substantial is coming. Not something like soupy Jello or slippery pudding that would slip through the tines, but something like apple pie or chocolate cake. “Then he added, ‘In one of our…
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