congas and processions

Sometimes the order of events is important.

This morning was a funeral for a woman that I had never met, with a family I immediately became fond of. It’s such a strange thing sailing into someone’s life when they are at their most vulnerable, and asking them to share with you stories they may never have told anyone. But when they are willing, it is a huge privilege — and it makes for a better funeral.

In the aftermath of the funeral, I was supposed to be writing service booklets. But I didn’t. Funerals always leave me exhausted. I don’t know how my colleagues in the established church cope. So I spent the afternoon wandering around town, getting a mirror for over the fireplace, hooks, cord, nails… stopping for tea and a sandwich… then home to Molly who spent a very relaxed hour on my lap.

Tonight, it was off to a ‘castle’ for the primary school concert. I met the man who keeps my car running and the undertaker (who will be so much easier to deal with now that I see he is like his son). I then found myself leading the carol singing when the CD player broke down (strangely reminiscent of my singing Thine be the Glory at funerals: volume over style). And finally, I discovered a new recipe for mulled wine (crème de cassis is the trick, it seems).

It was a good day. But I am thankful the funeral came first. It would not have done at all for the funeral director and I to have danced Christmas conga lines last night, then have to face a funeral procession together in the morning.

5 thoughts on “congas and processions”

  1. Thank you for this, Kimberley. After Mummy’s funeral yesterday, my head and heart have been full of Holy Trinity and I browsed your website and found your blog. I have found great comfort and cheer from your blog messages this evening.
    My memories of yesterday will be of beauty and hope. We were all so moved by how much care and effort you put into the beautiful service. I cannot express the depth of my gratitude. My father has been sustained by you throughout this past week; yesterday, we all were.
    Tonight I hold fast to God’s promise that he has prepared a home for my beloved home-maker. God bless you.

  2. I see that Lorna has already posted a message expressing her feelings about how you helped us face up to our loss.

    I share all of her views, but could never hope to explain just how much your entry into my life has meant to me at this time of terrible anguish.

    Thank you and God bless you.

  3. Thank you for the beautiful service. I continue to draw comfort and hope from your thoughtful words. God bless, Fiona.

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