Carpenter’s Corner: Quick lunch

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While Peter was lying in his bed trying to fall asleep, his mind was busy recalling one of the busiest days he had had in quite awhile. It was a day that never wanted to end. From the moment his feet hit the floor there had been a barrage of er­rands, meetings, phone calls and pastoral visits that had soaked up his time faster than a dry sponge floating in a sink full of water.

“There is never enough time to spend with the ones you love” thought Peter as he dashed for safety under a large umbrella covering the quick lunch stand. He was not actually hungry but soaked and desperately wanting out of the rain.

“What ‘ill ya have there, Slick?” drawled the attendant who was sporting three days growth, a stained apron tied in front and a boat-shaped white paper cook’s hat.

“I’ll take a Chicago dog, or­ange soda and chili fries.” said Peter

“Ok, you got it Pal! Wow, when it rains it pours!” added the at­tendant with a smirk and slath­ered Peter’s hot dog in mustard.

“Well, you got that right, you wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had so far and it is not over yet!” replied Peter as he handed the man a wet ten dollar bill.

“You know Chief, cheer up be­cause someone died today and it wasn’t you! Actually, there were 151,607 people that died today worldwide. Now, that little piece of info ought-a cheer ya up, huh Sport?” hollered the man, proud­ly popping off the bottle cap of an orange soda.

Peter wondered how that lit­tle nugget, that little gem, that little bit of trivia, which wasn’t actually trivial at all, was sup­pose to brighten up his day? He wondered when the last time the cook had washed his apron or even if he had washed his hands before preparing his lunch? He thought about buying him a dis­posable razor, and then took a large bite off the end of the bun. As he pondered these questions a sizable amount of sweet pickle relish mixed with mustard slid off the bun and onto his freshly pressed white shirt.

A moment later, Peter was awakened from his twilight sleep as the fire-bell alert tone rang from his cell phone. It was just a dream. Still groggy, he tried to make out the blurry text displayed on the screen. He even­tually gave up and groped for his glasses on the night stand. The message read “Today my dad entered glory, finding his rest in the arms of Jesus.” The message was signed by his neighbor’s son. Still in shock, he imagined a baby lamb slung over the shoul­ders of the Good Shepherd.

He had known his neighbor for more than 26 years and had just heard that he was recovering from cancer but in good health all things considered. It had only been a couple of weeks since they had talked. In a moment Peter realized that he would never talk to his friend again and then began to tear up.

It was a cold truth, a resolute emptiness that began to dis­perse his joy replacing it with chilling sadness. As his neigh­bor, he would miss their weekly conversations over the fence that always ended with a chuck­le, grin (if he could have seen his face over the fence boards) or roaring belly laugh. As his pastor, Peter knew that he was in the presence of God and that he would be hearing “Well done, my good and faithful servant, enter into the rest prepared for you since the beginning of cre­ation.”

From experience Peter knew that the family members would be grieving and that it would be many years before time began to heal their wounds. He knew that there would be a memorial, where people would be coming from all over the country to pay their last respects. He knew that some of those people would not believe in God, many would not even have the faintest desire to know God or be troubled to hear the sermon that he would un­doubtedly have to write.

As Peter began the task of writing his neighbor’s memori­al, he wondered what his neighbor would have desired to say, if in fact he could say something. The thought was provocative, engaging and demanded an an­swer. As he struggled to imag­ine the answer he remembered something his neighbor had once said to him. “Life is but a vapor; here one moment and gone the next and you know Pe­ter, there is never enough time to spend with the ones you love.”

So tell someone you love them. Take a minute to call someone you have not spoken with in while. Have a quick lunch with a close friend. Make every second count while you still can.

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