I got the opportunity to attend a funeral last summer. Generally such things are the object of great sorrow – the loss of a loved one, the grief of a widow, and the personal effects that remain unsorted. This funeral was a bit different. I never got to know the departed; I knew some of the family. There was an element of sorrow there, but there was a sense of relief as well. Modesto died of Alzheimer’s disease. His memory had long fled, but there was one thing he remembered through all of it. He wanted to be on time for church on Sunday. It was the highlight of his week. So much so that when his sense of time left him, it was always 10 minutes before it was time to go to church. They had to put signs up all over the house telling him that it was not Sunday. Even then he would not always believe them.
He didn’t just want God. Towards the end of his life going to church was the only event he could remember needed to be done. That was it. His whole identity was wrapped up in spending time praising God. All he wanted out of life was to spend a few more hours praising God.
I would rather not set my life up next to Modesto’s. If I even claim to be half as dedicated as he proved himself to be, then I am a liar. I go to the late church service and wish it were a bit later. I wonder just how much over the pastor is running with the sermon this week. I am saddened by my inadequacy.
There is no easy way out of this, but there was such an easy way in. What if there were a way to get excited about God again? Would that help cure the bla of my faith? Yes!
Where did I meet Jesus? How has He helped me in my greatest needs? Remember that bit about “I stand at the door and knock”? I screwed up. I dropped the ball. Jesus calls me His child. Takes me into His arms. Holds me until I stop crying.

Your sin is forgiven my child. The weight you carry is not yours anymore. Smile, I love you more than you can ever imagine.

This is what I remember: Jesus is more exciting than sleep. He accepts me. He loves me. He died for me.

~JCPunk