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I stood by the grave of Irene Picket. Irene was 91 years old and had out lived her husband and children. She had an abrasive personality and a sharp tongue. That meant she had few friends. As her pastor I had visited her and had learned to love Irene. She was terribly interesting. She had been paralyzed for a decade by some disease but could walk again. She had great stories to tell about being paralyzed in the depression years and still having to work. She was her own carpenter and a pretty good one. She never drove a car but could handle a buggy. She still heated with wood.

At her funeral there were only 5 people. She had some prearranged funeral plans for another pastor to do the service. He drove his car right up to the grave because he was too old to walk, it was a cold as blue blazes so he made it very brief. He read one or two scriptures, read some generic eulogy he had used a thousand times before. HE NEVER SAID HER NAME. Then he prayed and got in the car and drove away.

I thought to myself… Irene lived 91 years, lived through unbelievable events, and was one of the most unusual characters I have ever known.. and this is all you get… some stranger to say a few generic words over you grave.. and not even say your name. THERE MUST BE MORE TO LIFE.

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