5

 

As I slipped into my black dress for Billy Myers’s funeral, my hands already had a slight tremor. I would be singing. I wished to do a good job, since Dorothy had specifically requested me as soloist. I became particularly nervous when singing at a funeral service. I guessed that was because I wanted to do it just perfect—what would please and comfort the family.

When Griffey and I entered the back of the funeral home chapel about seven o’clock for the eight o’clock service, the visitation line stretched down the aisle, into the hallway, and nearly to the front door. We made our way past the line of friends and family. I spotted Dorothy standing near the head of the opened casket standing tall with no tears.

I scanned for the piano and noticed an enclosed area to the left. I slipped around the corner and plopped onto a small pew behind the piano and microphone stand. I was relieved I would be hidden from the crowd during my solo. Keeping my emotions in check would be easier that way.

As Dorothy greeted family and friends, I watched the pictures of Billy’s life scroll through on a screen in the front of the chapel. The pictures told the story of a man who had been an inspiration to so many people. He had certainly followed the words of First Peter. Scenes with smiling grandchildren. Scenes with the senior group at church. Scenes depicting his hands working or his mouth teaching to benefit others.

I blinked back tears. Billy had been what I was striving to become. I wanted others to see that in me. I whispered a prayer that God would help me. I would strive to accomplish the remaining traits I’d been reading about.

After the service, Dorothy made her way to me. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and she dabbed at her nose with a tissue. She grabbed my hand and squeezed. “Thank you. The song was just perfect.”

“I’m so glad.” I hugged her.

“I have something for you.” She handed me a small gift bag. “Billy was always picking up little trinkets and things for the people in our Sunday school class. I found this and knew it was for you.” She embraced me again. “It fits you.” Her voice broke.

“Thank you.” My bottom lip began to quiver.

Someone caught Dorothy’s attention, and I slipped beside Griffey. He spoke one last time to Dorothy and then we made our way to the parking lot. Once in the car, I let out a heavy sigh. I turned toward Griffey. “You did a great job with the service.”

“Thanks. Somebody like Billy—it’s easy. Like I said during the funeral service, he’s already preached his own funeral through the way he lived. And, you did a great job, too.” He rubbed my back.

“Good. I was glad to be hidden.”

“Probably for the best. When you started to sing, Dorothy broke down and let the tears flow.”

“I’m definitely glad I couldn’t see that. I would’ve never made it.”

Griffey nodded toward my gift. “What’s that?”

“It’s from Dorothy.” I pulled out the tissue paper and carefully unwrapped what was inside. I held the petite figurine up so as to catch the outside lights from the funeral home. I gasped.

“What?” Griffey leaned nearer.

My emotions blocked my ability to speak. The ceramic figure was a small white angel with gold lettering across the chest reading: Angel of Blessing.

Griffey sat back against his seat. “Wow.”

I swiped at tears and let out a chuckle.

 

****

 

Though the intense heat of summer had scorched many lawns, leaves still glowed green on trees and bushes. The sky was clear and blue except for a few lacy clouds here and there. I had built up my speed to a nice clip and relished in the birds’ morning songs.

“The beauty of His creation is a blessing, isn’t it?”

My head snapped around to find Conrad walking by my side. “Yes. That’s one of the reasons I enjoy walking outside.”

We walked along a few paces without a word.

“You know, Conrad, I did go back and look up the verses in First Peter again. I’m doing pretty good on the list.”

He stopped abruptly, and I followed suit. His expression was serious as he stared into my eyes, and I felt a little nervous.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Addy, this Christian life is not a list of tasks to check off. The qualities listed in First Peter or any other places in Scripture, for that matter, are to become a part of your character—make you more like Christ Jesus.”

I bowed my head, shifting my gaze to the ground feeling properly scolded. Conrad’s hand touched my shoulder, and I raised my eyes toward him again.

“It’s a lesson every believer must learn. Being a Christian is not what you do; it’s who you are.” His expression softened, and a pleasant smile replaced the firmness. “To truly touch others, your life must emanate all of those characteristics all of the time.”

I puffed out my cheeks with air and then blew it out, eyes widened. Conrad chuckled and shook his head. “Not an easy task, I know.”

We started to walk again this time more slowly. “I’m beginning to think having visions and encouraging people based upon them might have been the easier task.”