The Write Word

Planning my funeral

I am planning my funeral. 
I know EXACTLY what I want.
The least expensive coffin on the market.
Do NOT waste precious dollars on a fancy box 
that is just going in the ground.  
I was frugal in life, I have a reputation to protect.

Bury me in a size 8. 
Maybe something with lace, or sequins. 
Or even better, lace AND sequins.
I know you'll have to cut it open 
and drape it over me, 
but DO PLEASE bury me in a size 8.

Save your money, don't send flowers.  
Instead, have a meal with someone you love.
Feel free to have tacos, chocolate cake 
and sweet tea to remember me by.

And here is the best part, 
I want THESE words said.

I want my kids to say, 
“My mom was a woman of integrity.  
She lived at home, like she lived in public.” 

I want my husband to say 
“She treated me with dignity and respect, 
and made me want to be my best self. 
Rachel made me proud to be a man.”

I want my neighbors to say, 
“She shared her veggies and flowers with us, 
and our kids always had a safe place 
to play over at her house.  
She sure loved our kids. 
Mrs. Coltharp, she really loved her church.  
She invited me to come every time we talked.”

I want my friends to say, 
“Rachel always told me the truth.  
It wasn’t always what I wanted to hear, 
and I didn’t always agree with her, 
but she always had my best at heart.”

I want my bank account to say 
“She always paid her tithe, 
and gave generously to the Kingdom.”

I want orphaned/abandoned children to say 
“She shared with us when we were alone, 
cold, hurting and hungry.”

I want my Bible to say, 
“She slap WORE ME OUT”.

I want my computer, cell phone, debit card, check book and mailbox to say “She served Christ first with me, herself second.”

I want my house to say, 
I heard her pray every day,   
and watched her disciple her children
 right here within my walls. 
She made me a holy place.”

And I want it all to be true.

So, like I said, I’m planning my funeral.  
Every day.  
Every time I plan a meal.  Every time I open my web browser.  Every time I whip out my debit card.  Every time I pay my tithe.  Every time I open my door to a neighbor, a friend, or a child.  

Every time I reach for my Bible.
Every time I choke back my sarcastic reply, choosing a gracious word instead.  Every time I stifle my irritation and serve with humility, as unto the Lord, and not men.

For when my voice has ceased to speak, 
my words will echo in the hearts of my children.  
When my prayers have ceased to be breathed, 
they will still fan the flames 
in the souls of my loved ones.  
When my fingers stiffen and are folded 
into eternal stillness, 
my life will still touch those I leave behind.
  I’ll be gone.  
But I’ll still be here.

I’m planning my funeral.  
Are you?

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