IThe sound of Martha's voice on the other end of the telephone always brought a smile to Pastor's face. She was one of the oldest members of the Church, and one of the most faithful. "Grandma Jones," as all of the children called her, just seemed to radiate faith and love. Today, her voice had a different sound to it.

"Pastor, could you stop by this afternoon? I need to talk with you."

"Of course, I'll be there around three. Is that ok?"

It didn't take long for Pastor Jim to discover the reason for the call. As they sat there facing each other over a cup of coffee, Martha shared the news that her doctor had just discovered a cancerous tumor. "He says I probably have six months to live".

"I'm sorry to ..." but before Jim could finish, Martha interrupted. "Don't be. The Lord has been good to me. I have lived a long life. I'm ready to go."

"I know," Jim whispered with a reassuring nod.

"But I do want to talk with you about my funeral." The two talked quietly for a long time, about Martha's favorite hymns, the Scripture that had meant so much to her through the years, and the many memories they shared from the five years that Jim had been with Central Church.

When it seemed that they had covered just about everything, Martha paused, looked up at Jim with a twinkle in her eye, and then added, "One more thing, preacher. When they bury me, I want my Bible in one hand and a fork in the other".

"A fork?" Jim was sure he had heard everything, but this caught him by surprise. "Why do you want to be buried with a fork?"

"I have been thinking about all of the church dinners and banquets that I attended through the years," she explained, "I couldn't begin to count them all. But one thing sticks in my mind, at those really nice dinners, when the meal was almost finished, a server or maybe the hostess would come by to collect the dirty dishes. Sometimes, at the best ones, somebody would lean over my shoulder and whisper, 'You can keep your fork.' Do you know what that meant? Dessert was coming! It didn't mean a cup of Jell-O or pudding or even a dish of ice cream. You don't need a fork for that. It meant the good stuff, like chocolate cake or cherry pie! When they told me I could keep my fork, I knew the best was yet to come!

That's exactly what I want people to talk about at my funeral. Oh, they can talk about all the good times we had together. That would be nice. But when they walk by my casket and look at my pretty blue dress, I want them to turn to one another and say, 'Why the fork'? That's when I want you to say, I want you to tell them, that I kept my fork because the best is yet to come!"

I want to thank my friend, Pattie, for this wonderful story.

The Best Is Yet To Come.

I think that life is supposed to be good. We have the love of family and friends, the blessings of living in an exciting and wondrous world and we have the peace, love and joy of God. Life is good! Yet. I know that the best is yet to come. God has said the very best of this world can't compare to what he has prepared for those who love Him. We can begin to imagine the wonders of Heaven. It is simply beyond us. But we do know that we will see those who have gone on before us, that we experience the Great Love of Christ and the excitement of the Glory of the Living God. Yes, the best is yet to come.