I made an honest and bold statement thinking I had done a great thing for my children, taking away their worry. “I’ve planned my own funeral.”
I said to a group of friends, “My funeral arrangements are done — My favorite picture of me for my obituary, the song I want sung, my life scripture, who to speak and where I want to be laid to rest. I’ve already given my special friends and grandchildren a heads up to speak so they won’t be caught off guard.”
Someone said, “You need to let your children plan your funeral and say what is on their hearts. You are robbing them of a blessing, giving them closure in remembering you.”
“I’m not sure how they will remember me.” A little embarrassed, I laughed and added a bit of humor. “Leaving me in my children’s hands to do what they want is a scary thought. Hopefully they surprise me. Maybe they will even cry a little. No pressure.”
Her statement caught me off guard. I pondered for days how I had sounded. Maybe I came across arrogant and that I am telling people how and what to think of me. I’m not a celebration, hyped-up kind of funeral person, but not a dull, boring, unemotional kind, either. I want my funeral to bring heaven to earth. Is that too much to ask?
My favorite scripture has been crafted in art on a piece of wood by my granddaughter. This is my declaration. “As for me, I will see Your face in righteousness; I shall be satisfied when I awake in Your likeness” (Psalm 17:15, NKJV). That’s what this life is all about. That is the goal.
I want Jesus to be elevated and heaven’s window opened. Possibly someone will catch a revelation of God’s love and what Jesus has done for all of us. It’s been a long, hard journey of faith. I’m counting on seeing Jesus at the threshold of heaven waiting for me.
As far as flowers, I’m not a pretentious person. I’m not a hothouse plant kind either. White daisies that grow wild in our backyard are perfect. The ones that my Sweet Al would pick and bring to me. He’d place them in a blue Ball jar on the table. Over 60 years, I received so much love from Al in that simple gesture. I still embrace those memories and that is how I see my life — in those little things that really count.
When my older brother passed on, I drove to where he lived. “About funeral arrangements,” I asked, “Does anyone know his favorite scripture, song, a person to preside over the service? Did he have any hobbies? Who knew anything about my brother?” The answer was “No.” Even his widow said, “I don’t remember him speaking of a favorite scripture or song.”
At the gravesite, the pastor was totally unprepared to say anything. I had prayed for the day of his funeral, with my Bible in hand, when the man who led the services said, “I don’t know him, but if anyone has anything to say, please come forward.”
No one else did. I did. I stood, walked to the casket, and read the beatitudes. One by one, “Blessed are the poor in spirit.” My brother lived a humble life and I expounded on his mild manner. I continued with the other seven beatitudes in the Sermon on the Mount, which he had exemplified. My brother was a private person and might have been embarrassed if he knew I made a ruckus over him, but his life was too important to me to let him go without notice.
Another funeral I attended of an older woman who lived across the street from us in Albuquerque, the only thing they had to say about her was she baked cookies. At the time, I remembered thinking, Surely, she did more than that. She lived 90 years.
So, in March 2024, when I was so sick I thought I was going to die, I started making a list of what I wanted and didn’t want at my funeral. I told my children where to look on the computer for my funeral arrangements. They were relieved, except when I told them I wanted Jelly Roll to sing “The Cross was Enough” and T. Graham Brown to sing “Sweet Beulah Land.” Those two songs stir heaven.
Of course, they laughed and thought I was just being me. They have many family jokes, which I’m sure they will share, making it a family circus. I know which one of my children will break out into song — I can count on that. “Momma from the Train,” a kiss, a kiss. This song is Patti Page’s 1956 hit and from the film when Owen, (Danny DeVito) is fed up with his domineering mother and decides how to “out” her.
Hopefully, they will save all their funny things for a more private family gathering. But it’s OK; they’re going to miss me and they don’t even know it.
I have lived an intentional life. Very serious about my walk with Jesus, but I’ve used a lot of humor to get through the hard times. Even today I am pushing forward for that day I will meet my Lord, Jesus. With the last remembered words of my life, I don’t want a borrowed pastor who doesn’t know me to tell others who I was. No. No. No. I don’t want a long sermon with an altar call. Heavens no. If my life has not been a sermon written on the heart, that day will not be the day to preach. My children were thrilled to hear that.
I want friends who have walked this journey with me, through the ups and downs, who knew me. I want my grandchildren to speak for me. I am leaving my legacy, not fame or fortune, but an inheritance of my faith I’ve given to them. The Lord has promised “He (they) will drink from his inheritance as from a flowing brook; refreshed by love (they) will stand victorious” — Psalm 110:7 (TPT).
My children will drink from their inheritance from me, and I’ll drink my inheritance from them as I leave them behind to live their lives to the glory of God. I pray for their victorious lives in Jesus.
Final brushstroke: My prayer is that He will crown my heart with His glory. He has written His sacred story on my heart. As I continued to breathe, he is writing that story. Who will plan my funeral? It probably doesn’t matter. Hopefully, the ones I have had the most influence on will carry God’s crowning glory on their hearts.
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