Went to another funeral today. This is either the seventh or eighth since May. Several had been dear friends, and the rest I would say were more than acquaintances, they were friends. It is very hard when you lose someone. A few years ago, my father-in-law passed away a couple of days before Christmas. A few years before that, my father died.

When my father-in-law, David, died, his parents were still alive. His mother was well enough to go to the funeral, his dad had to stay home. Within a couple of years, both of them died, also.

When my dad died, it was the first time I had seen a dead body. I was 43 years old. Since then, I have seen way too many, and two have died with me right there.

Another disheartening aspect of all this is the many who have died shortly after I visited them. Pastor Bob started calling me the "angel of death" and told me not to visit him when HE was sick. Four people in the last six months have died within 36 hours of a visit from me. I know that it isn't really me that is causing the deaths, it is God and his timing on all of this. It has been draining on me, emotionally, but I know that people receive comfort from my visits along with the prayers and readings from the word.

Why am I sharing all this with you? I think it s to get things off my mind, ease the strain, relieve myself of the weariness.

God has put me in this role as an elder, and I do it with joy. (odd thing to say, but doing the work God has set out for you IS a joy)

The following is my favorite story. I was asked to write a story on Faith. It started with a man digging a hole and the story flowed out. I hope you enjoy it.

Faith

He knew it would take more than just his strength, his grit, his determination. It would take faith, faith in a higher power.
Grasping the shovel as if it were the only thing between life and death, he plunged it into the earth. The soft soil lifted easily. On each lift, the soil would cascade off of the shovel and fall back into the hole, leaving only a small portion to be tossed over his shoulder. His work was made twice as hard because of this. Still, on the verge of desperation, he continued to dig.
As the dirt pilled up behind him, thoughts came tumbling into his mind. Maybe he wasn’t in the right spot. Gotta have faith, he argued, can’t quit now, not ever. In a frenzy he pushed himself even harder. Maybe it’s too late. Have faith, have faith, gotta have faith. The mantra helped to keep a rhythm going, dig, lift, toss, dig, lift, toss.
The arms of the man were exhausted, tired from the exertion. Can’t quit, gotta keep going, have faith, you can do it. Oh Lord, I need your strength, he prayed. He plunged the shovel in again and again.
The hole grew, deepening all round him. More anxieties gnawed in his gut. Was this where it disappeared? Am I in the right place? He had witnessed the car disappearing under the flow of displaced soil from the earthquake and hoped he was in the right spot. The hillside came over the road and completely covered the car. Should he quit? He was old and tired and worn down. The man shook his head as if to shake off the weariness. These thoughts will kill, he declared. God has put me here, he has given me strength. I need faith, His faith, to continue. He said a short prayer under his breath as he continued his task. Give it to me, Lord. Give it to me.
He was an old man, but strong, stronger than most his age. It wasn’t just the physical strength, though; it was the spiritual strength that helped him keep at it. His hands were bleeding from burst calluses, but he never stopped. To stop would be to admit defeat; to stop would be a lack of faith, to stop would be... unthinkable.
A clunk rattled the shovel. Was it a rock? Maybe, just maybe… Please God. The tool scraped across the top of the car, scoring the paint. In desperate joy and trepidation he dug along the edge of the vehicle, hoping to find the window, hoping it was still intact, hoping there was air left inside, hoping…
The window came into view, and with it, a face, a cherub of a face. ““Stand back!” shouted the man, who took the shovel and broke in the glass.
The little boy was pulled from the car and squeezed in the man’s weary arms. The child put his chubby little arms around the man’s neck and said “I knew you would come, Grandpa.”