There was a young woman who had been diagnosed with a terminal illness and had been given three months to live. So as she was getting her things "in order," she contacted her Priest and had him come to her house to discuss certain aspects of her final wishes.
She told him which songs she wanted sung at the service, what scriptures she would like read, and what outfit she wanted to be buried in.
Everything was in order and the Priest was preparing to leave when the young woman suddenly remembered something very important to her.
"There's one more thing," she said excitedly.
"What' that?" came the Priest's reply.
"This is very important," the young woman continued. "I want to be buried with a fork in my right hand."
The Priest stood looking at the young woman, not knowing quite what to say.
"That surprises you, doesn't it?" the young woman asked.
"Well, to be honest, I'm puzzled by the request," said the Priest.
The young woman explained. "My grandmother once told me this story, and from there on out, I have always done so. I have also, always tried to pass along its message to those I love and those who are in need of encouragement."
"In all my years of attending socials and dinners, I always remember that when the dishes of the main course were being cleared, someone would inevitably lean over and say, 'Keep your fork.' It was my favorite part because I knew that something better was coming...like velvety chocolate cake or deep dish apple pie. Something wonderful, and with substance!' So, I just want people to see me there in that casket with a fork in my hand and I want them to wonder "What's with the fork?" Then I want you to tell them: "Keep your fork ..The best is yet to come."
The Priest's eyes welled up with tears of joy as he hugged the young woman good-bye. He knew this would be one of the last times he would see her before her death. But he also knew that the young woman had a better grasp of heaven than he did. She had a better grasp of what heaven would be like than many people twice her age, with twice as much experience and knowledge.
She KNEW that something better was coming.
At the funeral people were walking by the young woman's casket and they saw the cloak she was wearing and the fork placed in her right hand. Over and over, the Priest heard the question: "What's with the fork?" And over and over he smiled.
During his message, the Priest told the people of the conversation he had with the young woman shortly before she died. He also told them about the fork and about what it symbolized to her. The pastor told the people how he could not stop thinking about the fork and told them that they probably would not be able to stop thinking about it either.
He was right. So the next time you reach down for your fork, let it remind you ever so gently, that the best is yet to come. Friends are very rare jewels, indeed. They make you smile and encourage you to succeed. They lend an ear, they share a word of praise, and they always want to open their hearts to us. Show your friends how much you care. Remember to always be there for them, even when you need them more. For you never know when it may be their time to "Keep your fork."
Cherish the time you have, and the memories you share ... And keep your fork.
Author Unknown
Wednesday was my grandpa’s funeral. I have heard of the story I just posted before but had totally forgotten about it. Well, when g’pa was buried, he had a fork in his hand. I love that!! He knew there was something better yet to come!!
Love you G’pa and miss you so much!!
My Grandpa was an amazing man! He was a carpenter and a farmer. He loved living out on the farm and working the land. Sadly, last Friday he passed away. We had the funeral for him yesterday. It was a nice funeral. He was loved by so many and will be missed by many as well. The only good thing is now he is in Heaven and all the answers we have asked for many years have been revealed to him!
Pleas continue to keep our family in your thoughts and prayers. Thanks!
This was on his obituary, I loved the poem and thought I would share
My Farm
My farm to me is not just land where painted buildings stand… to me my farm is nothing less than all created loveliness… My farm is not where I must soil my hands in endless dreary toil, but where through seed and swelling pod, I’ve learned to walk and talk with God… My farm to me is not a place outmoded by a modern race… I like to think I just see less of evil, greed and selfishness…
My farm is not lonely for all day I hear my children shout and play… And here, when age comes free from fears, I’ll live again long, joyous years… My farm’s a haven—here dwells rest, security, and happiness… Whate’er befalls the world outside—here faith and hope and love abide… And so my farm is not just land where painted buildings stand… To me, my farm is nothing less than all of God’s hoarded loveliness…
Author Unknown
And a song that was sang at the service
