None of Judy's children felt that they could get through the passages she chose for her funeral without breaking down, so last evening, during the visiting hours, one of her sons pulled me aside and asked me if I would do a reading at the service. I said I guessed so, but then my social skills kicked in, and I added that I would be pleased to do it and was very honored that they asked. Which I was, truly. A little while later, he approached me with Judy's own dog-eared Bible in hand. I recognized it from her bedside. She had bookmarked the three pages with tiny post-it notes and had penciled brackets and asterisks next to the verses.
Holding the book and running my finger over the lines she had drawn just days before, I swallowed hard and wondered if I would be able to do it either, but when I got home, I looked up my passage again. It was a short excerpt from Paul's second letter to Timothy, and I read it over to be sure I knew it.
At noon today, the October sun through the clouds gave just enough light to make the stained glass windows of the chapel glow. When my turn came, I rose and walked to the lectern. The microphone was adjusted a bit high, so I stood on tip-toe and read the words I'd practiced:
As for me, I am already being poured out as a libation, and the time of my departure has come. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. From now on there is reserved for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will give to me on that day—and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing.
I think I did it well.
That is very powerful, Tracey.
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