That evening they gathered at their uncle’s home as they had for years. For a while, Bill forgot about his father’s cancer. Everyone was having such a good time singing, laughing, drinking, and singing some more. Bill in particular took a liking to Jason, even if his dad and uncle kept giving him an unkind stare, and then when Jason turned toward them, the stare would suddenly turn into a smile. Jason even volunteered to participate in their bathrobe tradition of acting out the Luke story of the birth of Jesus. The dog-sheep had died a year before but had been replaced with a cat that did not appreciate the attempt to recruit her into the play. She hissed and ran under the bed not to be seen for the rest of the evening.
The pasta and ravioli was fantastic. Bill’s uncle had ordered the sauce from a restaurant in San Francisco that shipped it up in a box filled with dry ice. This year the family decided not to do the light tour. But on the way home Milt stopped the car, looked into the sky and said, “Joyce, I don’t believe it. I think I see the old man up there. I even think I see his sleigh.” It was a memorable Christmas Eve.
When Bill arrived back at his apartment in Fort Worth, in some ways, he was glad to be back. He had spent the last few days at home taking long walks and praying. He had spent time with his dad, finally agreeing to learn something about cars. His dad kept assuring him that all would be well. Milt told him he should concentrate on his studies and if there were any need they would let him know. His mother, Bill knew, was very worried and did not share the optimism that his father had. That is what he loved about his father. Milt never gave up and always could see the bright side in every situation. Bill hoped that he had inherited that portion of his father. Deep inside, however, Bill felt he was more like his mother, more pessimistic or “realistic”, as she called it.
Bill had called Paul and Lynn about his father and soon after arriving back in Fort Worth he joined them for dinner. Bill and Paul spent most of the evening talking about fate and God and reassuring each other that things would be all right.
Somewhere deep within Bill there was a nagging question. The same question would haunt him throughout his life. The question was, “Why”? Why when one is faithful and doing good things do lousy things happen?
Another test of this question occurred a few weeks later. Bill absolutely loved traveling to the church in Murray, preparing and delivering sermons, and getting to know the people in the church. It was ironic that about the time that Bill’s father was undergoing surgery, Bill had his first death and funeral. While out hunting, Wilber, Sam’s brother, had died of a heart attack. Sam said that Wilber had just sat down after crossing a fence. He died right there in Sam’s arms.
This was a first for Bill. He made an appointment with Mr. Scott, their field service director, to talk over the dos and don’ts of funerals. The funeral was scheduled for Saturday morning so Bill planned to go up to Murray in time for the calling hours on Friday. The custom for that area was for the family to sit at the funeral home and receive guests all the day before the service. The night before the service, Bill was invited over to Paul and Lynn’s for dinner and a few beers to relax.
“I am sure glad I am only an associate minister,” Paul said sipping his beer. Paul had finally taken a position as an associate minister, working primarily with youth. Paul sipped his beer and continued. “The senior minister and the other associate do the funerals. I just do my job with the youth.”
“Yeah,” Bill said. “But Mr. Scott helped me a lot. I also called the funeral home in Denton and they helped clue me in on the traditions around here.”
Lynn entered the room and, overhearing the discussion, said, “Say, how about we relax a little. Honey, why don’t you put on that new comedy tape you recorded last week.” Paul had recorded an old comedy routine by Bill Cosby off of a record onto tape. They listened, howled, and drank the evening away. One routine was especially appropriate. The comedian was talking about funerals and how people so often say, “Doesn’t he look natural!” He remarked that of course no one could look natural because they were dead! The comedian then reflected that when he died he wanted to put a recording into the casket that said something like, “Hi, I am Bill, don’t I look natural?” The combination of friends, beer, and laughter made Bill’s tension vanish.
The next day after class, Bill climbed into his Dodge. He was wearing his one blue suit. He clutched his notes that were crammed into a Bible, carefully laying them on the seat of his car. The drive seemed to go much too quickly. Arriving at the funeral home, Bill nervously entered. In the center of the viewing room was the casket. Inside the casket was Wilber. Bill had not really gotten to know Wilber as well as he would have liked. Mary Lou, dressed in a black dress, was standing at the casket, looking in at Wilber who was dressed in the only sport coat that he owned, the same outfit he wore to church every Sunday. Bill walked up and gave Mary Lou and hug.
“I am so sorry,” Bill said. He really meant it, for in recent months he had truly coming to love these people. His eyes were tearing up from the emotion in the room. The director of the funeral home, Bret Stevens, was standing off to one side watching. He had given Bill a pat on the shoulder and an encouraging word when Bill had arrived.
Mary Lou looked up at Bill and said with all seriousness, “Doesn’t Wilber look natural?”
It was too much. Bill bit down hard on his lip and responded, “Yes,” and then quickly left the room. Going into the director’s office, Bill collapsed into a chair and broke out laughing, trying to keep his laughs as quiet as he could. Stevens, the Director of the home, seeing the young minister fleeing the room, quickly responded and followed the young minister into his office.
“Is everything all right?” Bret said with a compassionate tone. “I saw you overcome with tears and quickly leaving. It happens sometimes.”
About that time Bill looked up. There were tears streaming from his eyes but his expression was not one of grief, but the look of one trying to hold back hysterical laughing.
“I don’t understand, “Bret said, looking confused.
Finally getting control, Bill told Bret the story of the comedy routine that he had listened to the night before. Bret remembered the routine and said it had been a hit around funeral homes. Bill told Bret about how Mary Lou’s first words were: “Doesn’t Wilber look natural?” Bill apologized as Bret looked on with the stern look a father might give a child for being inappropriate.
“I will let you get control of yourself,” Bret said opening the door to return to the family. A few moments later the door was flung open. Bill looked up to see Bret holding his mouth, trying to contain laughter.
“She said it again!” Bret said, “Right when I got there she said it!” Then a moment later Bret looked at Bill and said, “I will never forgive you for this. Do you know how many times in a week I hear, ‘doesn’t he look natural’? I will never be able to keep a straight face again.” Bret and Bill would become good friends over the next few years. Bret became a mentor for Bill and in many ways was better than many of his teachers.
That evening, Mrs. Tyndale, a member of the little church, offered Bill the use of the spare room for the night. Her home was immaculate. When she fixed coffee, she served it in a matching coffee set. The cup and saucer were placed on a handmade doily. As they sat sipping their coffee, Bill asked about the tornado story she had told him. Mrs. Tyndale said that she was a little girl when the twister had hit.
“Yes, I remember it,” she said sipping her coffee. “It hit on Easter Sunday. I think I was five, maybe six.”
“Did it hit during worship?”
“No, No, my goodness, no!” Mrs. Tyndale said stirring her coffee, which sat within a flower decorated cup and saucer. “But I remember my mamma had gotten me this beautiful Easter hat. I was so proud of that hat. No, the twister hit after church. We had gotten back home when we had to rush down to the shelter. As we were going down into the shelter, I remembered that I had left my hat on the seat in church. I just darted out, but my father grabbed me. He jerked me right back into the shelter. I cried and cried about that hat.”
“What happened?” Bill said pouring himself more coffee and offering Mrs. Tyndale the same.
“Well Mamma said we should pray about my hat so we did. All of us gathered around and prayed real hard. We could hear the twister outside. Then it was gone, just like that! Well, we got out of the shelter and a lot of trees were down. We looked up the street at the church and it wasn’t there anymore. It was just a pile of boards and stuff all jumbled up. I cried and cried. My mamma said for us to go and have a look. So my daddy and mamma took me to the church and there was my hat, sitting right on top of all that mess, hardly anything wrong with it.”
“That is quite a story,” Bill said, obviously impressed.
“Just a minute,” Mrs. Tyndale said, rising from her chair and going to the closet. She opened the closet door, pulled down an old hat box and took out a yellowed hat. “Here it is!”
Bill took the box and hat and held it in his hands. “This is the hat?”
“Yes, this is the hat that the Lord spared. I have kept it all these years just to remind me that sometimes prayer is answered.”
“Wow,” was all Bill could think of saying.
The next day, Mrs. Tyndale fixed Bill scrambled eggs, biscuits, and bacon. She said he needed a hearty meal before the service. Bill thanked her for her hospitality and gathered up his notes, Bible, and suitcase and left for Denton and the funeral.
He arrived early. Bret Stevens greeted him and again related the “doesn’t he look natural” story. Stevens told Bill he had called the other funeral director and told him the story just to share the misery. Bret then walked Bill around, showed him the small pulpit in the chapel. The room was plain. Directly behind the pulpit, there was a wooden lattice hiding the organ. Bill met the organist, Alice who played at the Methodist Church in town. Bill carefully placed his notes on the pulpit, and then retired to the director’s office to await the beginning of the service. Fifteen minutes later Stevens opened the door and said, “We are ready.”
Bill walked up to the pulpit and for a brief moment his mouth seemed to not work. Sam, Juanita, and Bobby were all seated on the front row. Sam gave Bill a confidence building smile. Mary Lou sat beside Sam, her face red from crying. Bill stepped up to begin. As he did, the director, Bret, reached over and turned a switch to turn on the air conditioning. As the fans came to life and air began to flow, what Bill had not realized, nor had the director, was that there was a vent just above the pulpit. Before Bill realized it, all his notes fluttered one page at a time off of the pulpit, right past him, and slid under the bottom of the wooden lattice behind him. In a moment all his notes were gone. No one sitting in front noticed. Director Stevens noticed and both hands went to his face reflecting the horror that Bill was feeling inside. Bill looked around for a moment like a child caught in the act of stealing a cookie. Then something seemed to happen. Bill felt a sense of peace. His composure returned. He looked up and began.
“Friends we have gathered here to honor and celebrate the life of Wilber.” And with that he delivered a beautiful funeral. He remembered the prayers and most of his meditation. He actually amazed himself.
After the service, Bret Stevens was the first to reach Bill. “I am so sorry,” he said. “That has not happened before. I don’t know what I was thinking. But you did just fine.”
Bill smiled, “I was so nervous, I went over the service so many times. I guess I had it memorized.” He paused. “I don’t know, Bret, if I were a betting man I would say you did it on purpose just to get back at me for last night.” Bill smiled ear to ear as he said this. Bret laughed, “I wish I had thought of it. That is good.” And thus Bill’s first funeral ended with something he would remember for his entire ministry. As Bill drove home he wondered if he would have to soon attend another funeral: his father’s.
In January, Bill received word that his father’s surgery had gone well. His mother relayed that the doctor was realistic but held out some hope. His father would start a chemo treatment instead of radiation. Bill wanted to be there, but his bank account was getting very low. The job at the grocery store and the church brought in enough income to live, but not enough to afford a trip out west. He was grateful for the meat manager who gave him cuts of meat. He and Dave continued to enjoy the late night meals. Sometimes he would take a piece of roast over to Paul and Lynn’s and Lynn would work her magic and they would have a feast fit for kings, not seminary students.
Seminary was exciting. Bill loved his New Testament courses and especially loved his history courses. He was doing well in classes and all seemed to be going pretty well. That is usually when the other shoe falls.
It was a warm Thursday when Bill received a call from Sam at the church.
“Bill, this is Sam.”
Bill wondered who had died. He prayed it was not Bobby or Juanita. He prayed that it was not the sweet Mary Pond. Bill had developed a special love for Mary. She was quiet and always positive. He had been in her family home several times visiting with her. She lived in two rooms to make her Social Security check stretch to cover her costs. When Bill had asked her why she had tended to her ex-husband after he had treated her so horribly, she would just smile and say, “I think that is what the Lord wants us to do. We just don’t forgive the people we like. We have to forgive the people who have hurt us.” That was Mary. The walls of her room were plastered with photos cut out mainly from National Geographic. She would talk about the places around the world that she always wanted to travel to. Yet, as she talked she seemed to know so much about the places that one could believe she had actually gone there. Mary lived frugally. She refused to take help, and preferred to make it on her own. One day she took Bill to her cupboard and opened it. There was a box of cereal and cans of Campbell’s soups. They were stacked two high.