Keep your fork

Early on in my faith, I attended a church called “Hope” in Grand Haven Michigan. yes;One Sunday morning, we had a potluck in the brightly lit, outdated church gym that would follow the sermon. The pastor gave his sermon and incorporated the following story:


There was a Christian lady who was diagnosed with a terminal illness and had been given three months to live. So, as she was getting her things "in order," she contacted her pastor and had him come to her house to discuss certain aspects of her final wishes. She told him which songs she wanted sung at the service, what scriptures she would like read, and what outfit she wanted to be buried in. The woman also requested to be buried with her favorite Bible. Everything was in order and the pastor was preparing to leave when the woman suddenly remembered something very important to her.There's one more thing," she said excitedly."What's that?" came the pastor's reply."I want to be buried with a fork in my right hand."The pastor stood looking at the woman, not knowing quite what to say. "That surprises you, doesn't it?", the woman asked."Well, to be honest, I'm puzzled by the request," said the pastor.The woman explained, "In all my years of attending church socials and potluck dinners, I always remember that when the dishes of the main courses were being cleared, someone would inevitably lean over and say, "Keep your fork." It was my favorite part because I knew that something better was coming...like velvety chocolate cake or deep-dish apple pie. Something wonderful, and with substance! So, I just 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: "Keep your fork. The best is yet to come.The pastor's eyes welled up with tears of joy as he hugged the woman good-bye. He knew this would be one of the last times he would see her before her death. But he also knew that the woman had a better grasp of Heaven than most Christians did.At her funeral people were walking by the woman's casket and they saw the pretty dress she was wearing, her favorite Bible, and the fork placed in her right hand."What's with the fork?And over and over he smiled.During his message, the pastor told the people of the conversation he had with the woman shortly before she died. He also told them about the fork and about what it symbolized to her. The pastor told the people how he could not stop thinking about the fork and told them that they probably would not be able to stop thinking about it either. He was right.So the next time you reach down for your fork, let it remind you ever so gently, that the best is yet to come.True friends are a very rare jewel, indeed. They make you smile and encourage you to succeed. They appreciate you. They accept you just as you are. They would never take advantage of you. They lend an ear, they share a word of praise, and they always want to open their hearts to you.And keep your fork, because for all Christians, we need not fear death. It is only a shadow we go through from this life into eternal life. Nothing scary. Nothing unknown. Jesus Christ is right there with us all the way.




We followed up the sermon on that Sunday morning with our own church potluck, so it was a fitting story to be told on that particular day. We made our way out of the sanctuary towards the gym and soon I was standing in line at the end of a trail of people waiting my turn to eat thinking about that woman and her fork. By the time I loaded up my plate and went to grab a fork, the person ahead of me had taken the last one...and there were none left. Because I’m a spiritually sensitive person and the Lord speaks to me volumes through analogies; you could imagine I was quite troubled and heartbroken realizing there was no fork left for me.


I’m sure my eyes misted up a bit, so I grabbed a spoon and a napkin (which would soon operate instead as a tear dabbing, wipe away the evidence, tissue) and headed to a table in the corner to put my gaze down towards my plate and avoid looking upset over something so silly. I didn’t have the courage to just go ask where the forks were and refill the fork basket as I would have done under normal circumstances had I not just listened to the story above. It wasn’t five minutes later that my pastor tapped me on the shoulder before he handed me a fork. I was overwhelmed with relief at what that meant in the moment of reflection I was in. Did I understand the significance? I did in that moment and even more so now that I’ve been pondering it again 9 years later.

In a world where we often feel rejected and alone…like an outsider looking in…like the one who missed the boat everyone else got on…. The one who didn’t get invited to the party… The kid who’s the only one still at school wondering if their parent forgot about them. Our true pastor Jesus never forgets about us. He was the outsider looking in at His own creation. He knows rejection and sorrow and isolation. So, when you are in that place, He will always be there waiting to hand you your fork to whisper in your ear that you are His and you are never alone. Put your trust in Him. What are you waiting for?

I told my mom about this event shortly after it happened. In all likeliness it was probably the same day. It was early on in my faith walk and she never forgot it…. even though I had. I'd completely forgotten this happened. During her battle with pancreatic cancer nine years later, she brought it up to me.

“Hey, remember that story about the fork, and you never got a fork and how upset you were? She said.  “No, what are you talking about?” I asked.  And she reiterated the entire event to me and told me how much that story stayed with her and how happy she was that my pastor gave me a fork. I'm so thankful she remembered so I could remember how God was with me that day….and subsequently her in her final days….and hopefully for you, my reader, today.