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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