I get to hear a lot of eulogies. Long ones, short ones, poorly worded but effective ones, and even sometimes, ones that go on for far too long. The record is forty-five minutes.
Perhaps the most potent are those who say what they miss. Anything from a cuddle to chocolate cake, to the whiff of passing perfume.
The eulogies are always compelling because I have never known the deceased for as long as the person speaking. So it’s good to do a little bit of ‘catchup’ and find out about the person that I have known for a relatively short space of time.
It’s also intriguing to see the pictorial display. This person was young once! They were wrinkle-less and youthful. They were a teenager, a follower of fashion, played sports and went to primary school. Why is this a surprise?
But what about my eulogy? My Father died suddenly and so I made a few notes that might help somebody say something about me. It’s my funeral, right? I might as well have some input as to what will be said. How successful I am is anyone’s guess.
But afterwards, when the last sandwich has been scoffed, the last cup put back on the shelf and the last tear wiped away… what will the eulogy really mean? What will become of those neatly typed pieces of A4 bits of paper?
One there is who will speak authentically about my life. His words will really matter. What those words will be is a matter of great conjecture. How they will be spoken I think I already know. They will be spoken as only a wise, compassionate and discerning Father can. But then perhaps He and I won’t need words. His loving look will say it all.