Snapshot 6: Honor

In case you missed it, the Snapshot series began here.


Over tear-streaked cheeks, wails of sorrow ring out.
Our family attends the funeral of an employee.
The crowds mourn a beloved provider.
Father.
Grandfather.
Husband.
Son.
In his late sixties, Obedi had the national life expectancy rate beat by 17 years.
But his Mom is still around to mourn him at almost 90.

As the rich foreigners, his employers, we are viewed as Guests of Honor.
Fancy wooden chairs are placed in the dust.
Tied up tarps provide some shade in the heat.
For us.
Other mourners file in around us on benches.

The wooden casket is carried out with a wake of wailing women.
His mother.
His sisters.
His wife.
His daughters.
They sit in the dirt.
Reminds me of those who mourn in Israel in dust and ashes.

But there is also not much room anywhere.
How could his wife be in the dirt, while I am on a fancy chair?
Ancient truths ring in my ears:

"Whoever wants to be first must take last place
and be the servant of everyone else."

Mark 9:35 (NLT)

Honor can be difficult.
It was painful to me to stay in that seat.
It was wrong to sit in the dirt - the family section.
But it felt wrong to stay in the chair.

Last week a friend gave me a string of beads. 

They were important to her.

I didn't need them.

But I took this Gift of Honor,

because it honors her.