Let me tell you about a man,
Tommy Collins,
a veteran in country music who interrupted his career
by his own choice
to become a minister.
And by the way,
I understand he was very successful.
And during this period of his life,
Tommy pastored a small Baptist church
in a very small town of Lincoln, California.
And it was during this time that
he was called upon
to speak at a funeral.
And the poem I want to recite for you now
is
a true experience of Tommy's.
And it's simply called The Funeral.
A funeral is always a saddening thing
for everybody, somebody,
to someone.
But some funeral scenes chill you to the bone.
One day in our town we had
one.
A very young mother had died,
something that you just don't expect.
And the shops
and stores had all closed their doors.
They did it out of love and respect.
And in the
crowded funeral home that day,
with everyone present weeping,
the sound of a little girl's
voice was heard.
She said,
That's my mommy, she's sleeping.
Then I heard the sound of
her little feet,
tap, tap, tap,
as she made her way down the aisle.
A little purse dangled
from her tiny wrist,
and it brushed her best Sunday dress.
And she boldly asserted the confidence
that little folks like her possess.
To the life that has no final chapter,
there's no
ending and no last smile.
The preacher and the rest were petrified, but
on the little
girl's face was a smile.
She said, Wake up, mommy, wake up.
And still not satisfied,
she
reached out with her little hand and touched her face and cried.
Then the brokenhearted
daddy spoke with the gentleness and with power.
And the words that issued from his lips was
the sermon for the hour.
In a childlike faith, he told her that
the dead in Christ will rise.
God gave us his word, he said,
and we know that he never lies.
We can't wake up our sleeping
mommy,
but we know someone who can.
Baby,
only God can wake up mommy.
Let's go home
and leave her in his hands.