Bittersweet Farm

Her name was Lois. That got my attention. I love that name. I love the way it sounds. I love to write it. I love to think of the Lois God gave me. Her name was Lois. They called her sister Vel. I was preaching Vel’s funeral. I preached her sister’s funeral and the guests filed past, some crossing themselves, some reaching gently out to touch her arm lying there silent in the beautiful white casket with a huge spray of pink roses.

Some were weeping. All were solemn. Then the group was reduced to the small circle of closest family. Those who might sit around the table in the evening. Or those who once did in their childhood. Those who would have walked with each other home from their childhood school.

They are about to close the casket on her sister and Lois bursts into pitiful tears, deeply mourning her sister and murmuring her love one last time over and over again through sobbing. I didn’t now either of them before yesterday. I wish they would come and be a part of our church family, but I may never get to see them again, but for a moment my heart joins them in grief when I think of the bond that sisters have. My wife and hers, our daughters—and I imagine the grief at parting and I wish I had taken the advice my dad always gave to be sure I had a handkerchief with me and I remind myself again: “Love the people in your life while you can. You only have so much time.”

Love the people in your life while you can–you only have so much time

Ken Pierpont
Granville Cottage
Riverview, Michigan
October 28, 2016