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<div class="ecxyiv638282670MsoNormal"><b><span
style="font-family: 'sans-serif'; color: black;
font-size: 18pt;">THIS IS CUTE; THE OPENING PARAGRAPH
MAKES THE PROPER STATEMENT TO SET THE MOOD. AND WE
THINK GOD DOESN'T TALK TO US? </span></b><span
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<div class="ecxyiv638282670MsoNormal"><b><span
style="font-family: 'sans-serif'; color: black;
font-size: 18pt;">**AN ABSOLUTE MUST READ** </span></b><span
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<div class="ecxyiv638282670MsoNormal"><b><span
style="font-family: 'sans-serif'; color: black;
font-size: 18pt;">Consumed by my loss, I didn't notice
the hardness of the pew where I sat. I was at the
funeral of my dearest friend - my mother. She finally
had lost her long battle with cancer. The hurt was so
intense; I found it hard to breathe at times. Always
supportive, Mother clapped loudest at my school plays,
held box of tissues while listening to my first
heartbreak, comforted me at my father's death,
encouraged me in college, and prayed for me my entire
life. When mother’s illness was diagnosed, my sister
had a new baby and my brother had recently married
his childhood sweetheart, so it fell on me, the
27-year-old middle female child without
entanglements, to take care of her. I counted it an
honor. 'What now, Lord?' I asked sitting in church.My
life stretched out before me as an empty abyss. My
brother sat stoically with his face toward the cross
while clutching his wife's hand. My sister sat
slumped against her husband’s shoulder, his arms
around her as she cradled their child. All so deeply
grieving, no one noticed I sat alone.My place had
been with our mother, preparing her meals, helping
her walk, taking her to the doctor, seeing to her
medication, reading the Bible together. Now she was
with the Lord. My work was finished, and I was alone.
I heard a door open and slam shut at the back of the
church. Quick footsteps hurried along the carpeted
floor. </span></b><span style="font-family:
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<div class="ecxyiv638282670MsoNormal"><b><span
style="font-family: 'sans-serif'; color: black;
font-size: 18pt;">An exasperated young man looked
around briefly and then sat next to me. He folded his
hands and placed them on his lap. His eyes were
brimming with tears. He began to sniffle. 'I'm late,'
he explained, though no explanation was necessary.
After several eulogies, he leaned over and commented,
'Why do they keep calling Mary by the name of
‘Margaret?'' 'Because, that was her name, Margaret.
Never Mary, no one called her 'Mary,'' I whispered. I
wondered why this person couldn't have sat on the
other side of the church. He interrupted my grieving
with his tears and fidgeting. Who was this stranger
anyway? </span></b><span style="font-family:
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<div class="ecxyiv638282670MsoNormal"><b><span
style="font-family: 'sans-serif'; color: black;
font-size: 18pt;">'No, that isn't correct,' he
insisted, as several people glanced over at us
whispering, ‘her name is Mary, Mary Peters.' 'That
isn't who this is.' 'Isn't this the Lutheran church?'
'No, the Lutheran church is across the street.' 'Oh.'
'I believe you're at the wrong funeral, Sir.' The
solemnness of the occasion mixed with the realization
of the man's mistake bubbled up inside me and came
out as laughter. I cupped my hands over my face,
hoping it would be interpreted as sobs. The creaking
pew gave me away. Sharp looks from other mourners
only made the situation seem more hilarious. I peeked
at the bewildered, misguided man seated beside me. He
was laughing too, as he glanced around, deciding it
was too late for an uneventful exit. I imagined
Mother laughing. At the final 'Amen,' we darted out a
door and into the parking lot. 'I do believe we'll be
the talk of the town,’ he smiled. He said his name
was Rick and since he had missed his aunt’s funeral,
asked me out for a cup of coffee. </span></b><span
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<div class="ecxyiv638282670MsoNormal"><b><span
style="font-family: 'sans-serif'; color: black;
font-size: 18pt;">That afternoon began a lifelong
journey for me with this man who attended the wrong
funeral, but was in the right place. A year after our
meeting, we were married at a country church where he
was the assistant pastor. This time we both arrived
at the same church, right on time. </span></b><span
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<div class="ecxyiv638282670MsoNormal"><b><span
style="font-family: 'sans-serif'; color: black;
font-size: 18pt;">In my time of sorrow, God gave me
laughter. In place of loneliness, God gave me love.
This past June, we celebrated our twenty-second
wedding anniversary.Whenever anyone asks us how we
met, Rick tells them, 'Her mother and my Aunt Mary
introduced us, and it’s truly a match made in heaven.'
</span></b><span style="font-family: 'sans-serif';
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<div class="ecxyiv638282670MsoNormal"><b><span
style="font-family: 'sans-serif'; color: black;
font-size: 18pt;">If you Love God for all the
marvelous things he has done for you, send this on to
others. </span></b><span style="font-family:
'sans-serif'; color: black; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
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<div class="ecxyiv638282670MsoNormal"><b><span
style="font-family: 'sans-serif'; color: black;
font-size: 18pt;">REMEMBER, God doesn't make mistakes.
He puts us where we are supposed to be. </span></b><span
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font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
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<pre class="moz-signature" cols="72">--
"Gun control is like trying to reduce drunk driving by making it
tougher for sober people to own cars." - Unknown
</pre>
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