Three Buses and a Funeral

I know that my blog has typically been reserved as a place to post Sunday morning sermons. As I was looking over some previous posts, I realized how boring I've made this little corner of the internet. In fact, when compared to my wife's wonderful blog (check her out here!), I'm almost depressing. I never share personal stories. I've reduced my blog persona to the point of, well, a boring Baptist preacher.
I realized that, at least by the appearance of this blog, a younger friend's fears have came true. A close friend of mine told his mother upon hearing of my surrender to the ministry, "Mr. Josh can't be a preacher. Preachers aren't allowed to have fun."
The fact is that, while this page hasn't often reflected it, my life is full of unique and entertaining circumstances. Last Friday would easily fall into that category.
These past two weeks at work have been almost as tolerable as a teacher dragging nails across a chalkboard. Every morning, I have to will myself out of bed and force myself to see my patients.
Apparently, God decided that He and I both needed a good laugh last Friday. The morning started very similar to most other work days. I managed to get dressed (somewhat appropriately) and poured myself into the front seat of Em's Jeep. I watched as mile after mile slowly ticked off the odometer.
My first two visits were pleasant, but very typical. And then the fun began. After grabbing a bite for lunch, I decided to embark on my journey to the next lady's home.
Now, HIPPA prohibits my disclosure of the woman's identity. And so all I can tell you is that she is a wonderful Choctaw Indian lady. In fact, I look forward to her visit every month because I can script what we will say. We'll talk about spiritual things for a few moments. We'll discuss the nurse's last visit. She'll tell me about any medications that need refilling. Eventually, the conversation always gets back to her arthritis, we pray, and I leave.
I followed the trek to her home, lost in thought about how I would break the news of our moving to this wonderful woman, and then it happened. As I rounded the corner, I could see her house- or at least all of the cars and people that covered her yard.
The usual quiet emptiness was now filled with the sight of approximately twenty cars, two buses, a couple of large tents, and at least twenty-five Choctaw men sitting in a line along the front of the house.
The thought swirled in my mind, "Could I really be make a visit in the middle of a family reunion?"
Stunned, I drove past the house without stopping. A few doors down, I turned the Jeep around and made a second pass. This time, I noticed a sign beside the road that read, "Slow, Funeral in Progress." This caused further disorientation and I made a second slow pass past the ensuing circus.
Suddenly, a world of possibilities flooded my mind. I feared that our patient had died, and no one thought to notify the hospice company. I began considering how I could politely ask one of the attendees, "Did she, um, I don't know, die?" without causing undue stress on all of those at the home.
I called the office hoping that they would have some information and I was just out of the loop. Unfortunately, that was not the case. When our secretary answered, I explained the scene, described the two buses, shared my hysteria, and then the phone went dead. Doesn't it always happen that outrageous things happen at the edge of cell service areas.
Finally, after another couple of slow passes, I determined that I just had to buckle down and get a hold on the situation. So I parked a few hundred yards up the road, and set out to stick my foot in my mouth. After scanning the gathering of men along the front of the house and discerning that they were wondering about the crazy white preacher that had been stalking the house, I went to a bus driver to find out the situation.
I explained who I was and what I was doing there, asked the awkward question, "Did she, um...?"
To my relief, the bus driver, who was actually very kind and understanding, told me of the passing of our patient's son. Finally, I could breathe again... well until I walked toward the front of the house to check on my dear patient. It was then that I found, this was not a family gathering for lunch after the service. This was the service! The casket was set by the front windows behind the line of men and the sweet melody of "Amazing Grace" (sung in Choctaw) echoed in the house. The preacher was beginning to speak- and I determined that a nuclear blast would be more subtle than my entry into the middle of that crowd.
And so, I expressed my condolences with those that could hear. I said a quick prayer in my head and walked as fast as possible toward the car without looking completely ridiculous.
As I was getting in the car to leave, can you guess what arrives to take my parking place? Another bus load of people! So now, I've managed to somehow infringe on three buses and a funeral.
This may sound cruel or unsympathetic, but as I drove away and once again saw the scene from a distance, I began to laugh until I cried. Only I could answer when asked the question, "What did you do at work today?" with "Not much. I just saw three buses and a funeral."
Well, as if this was not enough to send my mind into an alternate reality, my next visit only added to the uniqueness of the day. My next patient is an elderly African-American lady that always has something unique to share when I arrive. And this time was no different.
With my head still spinning from the debacle of my last visit, somehow our conversation progressed from her physical status to the injustice of society. Now, I should not admit this, but there are times when a loud TV in the background causes me to miss a few words in a conversation- especially when it is Judge Judy. (You understand, right?) This was one of those times. The TV program was hitting a climactic point and it would be at that time she asked me to read something that sounded like an "eviction notice."
I thought that I simply misunderstood her and made the mistake of asking, "What did you want me to read?" Again, she told me that she wanted me to look at the letters from her landlord and her eviction notice.
After examining that piece of paper, she was actually evicted in September. Here it is March and she is still in that unit. We worked through some details and possibilities, and eventually the conversation returned to the current state of society.
Apparently, her unit is located in a place that attracts some of Central Mississippi's most interesting personalities (that's the nice way of describing what one of Emily's former patients called "rogues"). One of her neighbors was brutally attacked by her own boyfriend, and my patient happened to observe the chaos of that evening. Apparently, she even traded words with the assailant.
By now, my mind has gone into overload. But she continues to share.
After the fact, she was called on to issue a statement and talked to a local judge. She relayed, in detail, exactly what she said to the perpetrator.
Apparently, he used some explicit language that I cannot repeat, called her a few names, and told her to mind her own business. Now, you can imagine how an eighty year old woman would probably respond. My patient doesn't fall into that category.
Apparently, she warned the young man that "the next time she saw him, and he used that language and tone with her, she would see if his blood ran the same color as her's- red."
After this the judge sat in stunned silence. Unfortunately, my patient thought this meant he didn't understand. So she began to repeat herself. After stopping her from retelling the entire story, she stopped to share one final thought. In closing, she told this stunned judge, "The next time I see him, I'm gonna be shootin'- for his head."
All I could think was, "Ain't it nice to know that I'm seeing Madea."
I took the continual progression of our conversation as my cue and developed an elaborate exit strategy- pray and run! And run, I did!
After such a wonderful day, what could possibly cap off a day like this?
The only way to cap this off is to get lost. And that I did. When trying to leave in haste, I ended up on some dirt roads headed in the wrong direction and finally recognized where I was after heading about 25 miles off course. At that point, I decided it was time to call it a day before anything else could happen.
I'm glad these kind of days only happen about every other day.
So, this is a pretty normal Friday. Three buses and a funeral. An eviction notice. A death threat. Wandering aimlessly lost in the woods.
So I leave you with two thoughts: First, the next time your work day gets strange, ask yourself, "How many death threats, eviction notices, and surprise funerals have I encountered today?" and secondly, if a day is spiraling out of control, remember the wisdom of a breadman, "A bad day can only last 24 hours, then it's a new day!"


I would invite you to leave a comment or a link sharing one of your funniest, or most memorable days at work. I want to see if there is a job more interesting than that of a traveling chaplain.