Flock of Geese

There once was a woman who had been diagnosed with a terminal illness. She asked her pastor to come and discuss plans for her funeral service. She told him which hymns she liked best and which scriptures she wanted to be read. “But there’s one more thing,” she said. “I want to be buried with a fork in my hand.” Seeing the puzzled look on the pastor’s face, she explained, “In all my years of attending church dinners, when the dishes are being cleared, someone would lean over and say, ‘Keep your fork.' It’s my favorite part because it means something better is coming: velvety chocolate cake or deep-dish apple pie. Something wonderful! I want people to see me there in that casket with a fork in my hand and I want them to wonder, ‘What’s with the fork?’ Then I want you to tell them what it means: the best is yet to come.”