Funeral at Christmastime

I live kitty-corner to a funeral home which is between Main Street and my house. Today I was out and about on Main Street, walking and focused on doing a number of little things quickly- going to the bank, picking up odds ‘n’ ends, mailing Christmas cards. Errands done in good time, I mentally was on to the next task of wrapping gifts. I just had to walk home to start that.

Walking quickly, I rounded the corner of Main Street towards my home. I noticed people around the funeral home, but did not pay too much attention as this is a regular occurrence as families and friends often gather on the sidewalk after saying goodbye to loved ones.

But today I was caught up short. At that precise moment a polished wooden coffin was being carried out the funeral home towards the waiting hearse, while family stood by silently. It instantly put everything into perspective.  In the middle of Christmas preparations, this little event reminded me of the value of life, and how precious and fragile it is. Am I, are you, valuing what is truly important?

Death is not something we easily embrace, especially at this time of  year. My son saw the title of this post and said, “Funeral at Christmastime? That’s not very nice.” He’s right. It’s not nice. And many people have experienced the “not nice” parts of Christmas.

For those of us who are Christians, we believe that the very baby who was born at Christmas is also the one who died several years later at Easter. He knows our hearts- our rushing, our pain, our priorities- and he loves us still.

“For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him will not perish but have eternal life. God did not send his Son into the world to condemn it, but to save it.” John 3:16,17  NLT

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One thought on “Funeral at Christmastime

  1. About 10 years ago the mother of two boys my sister was foster parent to was killed by a train on Christmas Day. It was all over the news, so we had to keep them, aged 2 and 5, from TV and radio until they could be told. It was a few years before Christmas Day could pass without knots in my gut, even without consciously realizing why. I haven’t seen those boys in 7 or 8 years, but I still mourn for them each Christmas Day.

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