In life we come to forks in the road. Paths we must choice. Decision we must make. Sometimes we don't always choice wisely and end up regretting our decisions, or even worse, passing up an option. Sometimes the option re-presents itself, other times it disappears never to be seen again. It's crossing that bridge when I come to it. And other times, it's water under the bridge. When I make the right choices, I think little of it and never compliment myself. What is expected rarely receives praise. However, when I feel I've made the wrong choice, I'm the first (and often the only one) who criticizes myself. I have a bad habit of putting the sole blame on myself when often there is not just cause to do so. I kick around the shadows of mistakes I've made (or at least felt I made) until finally someone grabs me and beats it into my head that I did nothing wrong. It's a message I need to remind myself of and reading this short story (below) of encouragement may just help reinforce the message.
There was a young woman who had been diagnosed with a terminal illness and given 3 months to live. As she was "getting her things in order", she contacted her Rabbi and had him come to her house to discuss her final wishes. She told him which songs she wanted sung, what scriptures she would like read and what outfit she wanted to wear. Everything was in order and the Rabbi was preparing to leave when the young woman suddenly remembered something important. "There's one more thing," she said. "This is very important. I want to be buried with a fork in my right hand."
The Rabbi looked at the woman, not knowing quite what to say. "That surprises you, doesn't it?" she asked. "Well, to be honest, I'm puzzled by the request," said the Rabbi. The woman explained. "My grandmother told me a story that I have always tried to pass along its message to those I love, and those who are in need of encouragement. In all her years of attending socials and dinners, she always remembered that when the dishes of the main course are being cleared, someone would inevitably lean over and say, 'Keep your fork'. It was her favorite part because she knew that something better was coming...like velvety chocolate cake or deep-dish apple pie. Something wonderful, and with substance! So, I just want people to see me there in that casket with a fork in my hand and I want them to wonder, 'What's with the fork?' Then I want you to tell them, Keep your fork...the best is yet to come."
The Rabbi's eyes welled with tears of joy as he hugged the young woman goodbye. He knew this would be the last time he would see her before her death. He also knew that the woman had a better grasp of heaven than he did. She had a better grasp of what heaven would be like than many people twice her age, with twice as much experience. She KNEW that something better was coming. At the funeral, people walked by the young woman's casket and they saw the cloak she was wearing and the fork placed in her right hand. Over and over, the Rabbi heard the question, "What's with the fork?" And over and over he smiled.
During his message, the Rabbi told the people of the conversation he had with the woman shortly before she died. He also told them about the fork and told them they probably would not be able to stop thinking about it either. He was right. So the next time you reach down for your fork, let it remind you ever so gently, that the best is yet to come.
So I'm keeping my fork and hoping that something/someone wonderful and with substance will come my way.
