FRUITS OF THE SPIRIT

From the Chapter "Deep Roots"

Grandpa Jones died when he was ninety-five years old.  I was not an ordained minister but the family asked me to come to Fort Collins to conduct his funeral, and I couldn’t very well refuse.  I was an ordained Southern Baptist deacon and pretty good Sunday school teacher and that was good enough for them.  The funeral was held in the funeral home’s chapel.  As I stood up and started to orate about Grandpa’s life and times, the Holy Spirit took over and provided the correct words for me to say.  I got into the spirit of things and I really “let it roll,” delivering, with no small amount of panache and fervor, a genuine Southern Baptist funeral sermon, starting with God’s grace, mentioning the mansions awaiting us all in Heaven, and ending with how to escape the eternal sea of fire and brimstone, just in case there were any unsaved sinners or Episcopalians in the crowd. 

My foxy, good-looking cousin Juanita was so smitten with my fiery and grandiloquent oratory skills that she offered to make a substantial cash donation and help me raise money toward starting a radio-style evangelical ministry in the northern Colorado area.  I personally think it was my southern drawl that crossed her eyes.  I politely demurred, even though I was enchanted by the idea.  I knew when she offered to donate the start-up money for my radio ministry that I had done the kind of job my grandpa would have expected, and deserved.  I pray he will rest in peace, forever.

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