> A hospital's top cardiac specialist died.
> At his funeral, his coffin was placed in front of a huge replica of a heart made
> out of roses.
> When the minister finished his sermon and everyone had said their final goodbyes,
> the heart opened, and the coffin gently rolled inside and the heart closed again.
> A fitting tribute to a much loved cardiologist.
> Suddenly one of the mourners burst into fits of laughter. Irritated at his insensitivity, the
> man next to him asked:
> "How can you laugh at a time like this?"
> The man replied: "I was just thinking about my own funeral;
> I'm a gynecologist!"
coulda been a proctologist,i would laugh at that
God one Teddy. LOL!
As a guitarist, I play many gigs. Recently I was asked by a funeral director to play at a graveside service for a homeless man. He had no family or friends, so the service was to be at a pauper’s cemetery in the back country. As I was not familiar with the backwoods, I got lost.
I finally arrived an hour late and saw the funeral guy had evidently gone and the hearse was n...owhere in sight. There were only the diggers and crew left and they were eating lunch.
I felt badly and apologized to the men for being late. I went to the side of the grave and looked down and the vault lid was already in place. I didn’t know what else to do, so I started to play.
The workers put down their lunches and began to gather around. I played out my heart and soul for this man with no family and friends. I played like I’ve never played before for this homeless man.
And as I played ‘Amazing Grace,’ the workers began to weep. They wept, I wept, we all wept together. When I finished I packed up my guitar and started for my car. Though my head hung low, my heart was full.
As I opened the door to my car, I heard one of the workers say, “I never seen nothin’ like that before and I’ve been putting in septic tanks for twenty years.”
Apparently, I’m still lost…
On the outskirts of a small town, there was a big, old pecan tree just inside the cemetery fence. One day, two boys filled up a bucketful of nuts and sat down by the tree, out of sight, and began dividing the nuts. "One for you, one for me, one for you, one for me," said one boy. Several dropped and rolled down toward the fence.
Another boy came riding along the road on his bicycle. As he passed, he thought he heard voices from inside the cemetery. He slowed down to investigate. Sure enough, he heard, "One for you, one for me, one for you, one for me ...."
He just knew what it was. He jumped back on his bike and rode off. Just around the bend he met an old man with a cane, hobbling along.
"Come here quick," said the boy, "you won't believe what I heard! Satan and the Lord are down at the cemetery dividing up the souls!"
The man said, "Beat it kid, can't you see it's hard for me to walk." When the boy insisted though, the man hobbled slowly to the cemetery.
Standing by the fence they heard, "One for you, one for me. One for you, one for me."
The old man whispered, "Boy, you've been tellin' me the truth. Let's see if we can see the Lord...?" Shaking with fear, they peered through the fence, yet were still unable to see anything. The old man and the boy gripped the wrought iron bars of the fence tighter and tighter as they tried to get a glimpse of the Lord.
At last they heard, "One for you, one for me. That's all. Now let's go get those nuts by the fence and we'll be done...."
They say the old man had the lead for a good half-mile before the kid on the bike passed him.
One Sunday morning, the priest saw little Davey staring up at the large plaque that hung in the church's foyer. The plaque was covered with names and small American flags were mounted on either side of it.
"Father Donovan," the boy asked, "what is this?
"Well, son, it's a memorial to all the young men and women who died in the service," the priest explained. They stood together quietly, staring at the memorial plaque.
Little Davey softly asked, "Which service? The 9:00 or the 10:30?"
While walking along the sidewalk in front of his church, our minister heard the intoning of a prayer that nearly made his collar wilt. Apparently, his 5-year-old son and his playmates had found a dead robin. Feeling that proper burial should be performed, they had secured a small box and cottonwool, then dug a hole and made ready for the disposal of the deceased.
The minister's son was chosen to say the appropriate prayers and with sonorous dignity intoned his version of what he thought his father always said: 'Glory be unto the Faaather, and unto the Sonnn, and into the hole he goooes.' (I want this line used at my funeral!)
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