In threes?

Around where I live, and most likely around where you live, they say that it comes in threes.  It does, you know.  Trust me.  When the first one comes, count one . . . when the second comes, count two . . . and when the third one comes, count three.  Above all else, once you've counted three, START OVER.

They say it about a lot of things, but most of the time they mean deaths and funerals.  They were right this week.  Monday brought news of two deaths related to our church and Tuesday brought news of the third.  In spite of having heard them for a long time and having officiated at more funerals than I can recall, I'm not so sure about the cycle of three . . . well, not unless one follows the rule above.

What I am sure of is what a church member told me a few weeks ago, "I won't get out of this alive."  He was talking about his long struggle with cancer.  Three deaths this week, plus a visit to my 88 year-old mother-in-law, and a long afternoon at the hospital with another church member and friend who is losing her battle with cancer has led me to think about life.

We put too much stock in the big stuff--successful careers, big paychecks, the awards for outstanding whatever, the expensive vacations, the designer clothes, the right school . . . you get the picture.  These things are not all bad, and some are good.  I like having a successful career; and I like having made enough money to supply all my needs, more of my wants than warranted, and to have been able to share with others.  It's nice having these things.

It's nicer knowing that my wife of almost 42 years is downstairs where I will join her in a few minutes.  It's nicer knowing that my friend and church member whose hand I held this afternoon drew comfort from my presence, not my words.  It's nicer knowing that on a very hot day and night, the overhead fan is creating a gentle breeze that is cooling my sweating body.  It's nicer knowing that when it's my turn to be counted among the three, there will be a few who will weep momentarily and rejoice that we've shared the journey.

I do like stuff; but most of all I like being part of a community, particularly my community of faith, where the important stuff is as near eternal as it can get this side of the divide.