Some would call it a minor miracle
Our son-in-law, Joel, who is the pastor of a fine church in Lenoir, North Carolina, received some tragic news on Monday afternoon.
His beloved father, David, pastor of a fine church in Williamsport, Pennsylvania, passed away suddenly and unexpectedly at home.
For Joel’s dad, like many pastors, since they work all day on Sunday, Monday is traditionally a day off. Joel had talked to his dad that morning, as he did most Monday mornings.
Joel’s mom, Debbie, after meeting her husband for a quick lunch at midday, had come home from work at around three to find her husband on the floor. He was gone. It had been sudden; probably a heart attack.
On Sunday evening — the night before his death — Pastor Bixler had preached in his pulpit. The title of his message was He’s My Friend.
Here is a link to that service. There is an interesting passage starting at about 13:30, where he talks about an experience he had this past week.
But if you don’t have time to watch that, at least listen to his brief closing prayer which begins at about 56:00.
That was likely the last public prayer he prayed, although I am reasonably sure that it was not the last prayer he offered to his Savior.
It’s astounding to listen to it, knowing that the next day he would be gone from our sight.
Joel and his mother and four siblings are devastated, as is our Stephanie and the other spouses, and the grandchildren.
TG and I learned of David’s passing shortly after Joel and Stephanie did on Monday afternoon, and it took a while to work through that shock, and because we had a packed day on Tuesday, it was Tuesday evening before we had a chance to talk about flowers.
As in, TG suggested that we ask Audrey and Erica and Andrew whether they wanted to contribute to a floral arrangement for their sister and brother-in-law's family.
I contacted Stephanie right away and asked her for the name of the best florist near her late father-in-law’s church in Williamsport.
(I’ve learned the hard way not to trust FTD or Teleflora or any other middle man when ordering flowers to be delivered out of town.
That’s because when my dear friend Mari’s father passed away in April of 2023, I ordered flowers which were never delivered, even though I was told that they had been delivered, and I had been charged for them.
We got it sorted out, but not before the time had passed that I wanted Mari and Bob to have and see and enjoy our flowers — i.e., at the viewing the night before the funeral. They were not delivered until the next day.
Save yourself the headache. Call a reputable florist in the area and give your order directly to them.)
(You probably already knew all of that but I am generally the last woman pirate in the Western Hemisphere to figure stuff out.)
On Wednesday morning I got a call from Henry — my mother’s husband for 37 years until her passing in 2020 — in which he expressed a desire to contribute to the fund for the flowers as well.
So it was that at around ten on Wednesday morning, with a couple of hundred dollars to spend, I called the florist that my daughter had recommended.
The shop, Janet’s Floral, happens to be situated next door to the church where Joel's dad was the pastor for 34 years, and where the viewings and funeral would be held.
I had already gone online to the Janet’s Floral website and had viewed everything on offer, and had all but decided to order a large spray on an easel. But I had questions.
I explained to the lady who answered the phone that I was looking at their website and wished to inquire about a few of the designs featured there.
When I mentioned by name the one I liked the best, she immediately responded: We don’t have any glads.
(Gladiolus, being a tall stalk-type flower, were what gave this arrangement its gorgeous height and sweeping quality. Quite stunning.)
Disappointed, I began asking about a few other of the various designs on the website.
And was informed that they in fact had very few, if any, of the blooms that would be needed to complete any of those arrangements.
Joel's mother, Debbie, with her daughter Sheila
The nice lady, whose name was Jan — not Janet, she was quick to inform me, lest she be confused with the owner — patiently explained that it was Janet’s day off, and they try not to bother her on such days, and they would not know until the next day which or what quantity of flowers she had on order.
And we have three funerals, she said, lest I imagine that Pastor Bixler was the only person in Williamsport to have shuffled off the mortal coil this week.
Which was not what I thought. It is said, after all, that deaths come in threes.
We decided that I would think on what to do next, and call back.
Whereupon I called one of Janet's competitors perhaps a half mile away on the same road.
It was worse at the second florist. Looking directly at their website, I asked about two or three impressive sprays and was told that their shop could not possibly fulfill any of those orders.
The flowers necessary to create those particular arrangements were in short supply and/or were not available at all.
If only I'd needed ferretsI was beginning to wonder if I had in error called the library or a dry cleaner or a pet store (We have no flowers, but we have ferrets!) and not, in fact, two separate florists.
Or if I should simply CashApp some money to Stephanie and tell her to go to the grocery store and pick out a bouquet.
Remembering all the while, the time that Audrey walked into Dunkin' Donuts in the middle of the day hoping to secure — wait for it — a donut, and was told that they did not in fact have any.
? ? ? ? ?
I mused aloud to the lady on the phone, something along the lines of, What do I have to do to purchase a flower arrangement for this funeral on Friday?
What must I say, or spend, or do, or what connections do I need, or what spirits must I summon? What deals must I cut, what rivers must I cross, what dispensations must I obtain, to make that dream a reality? I wondered.
She mildly rebuked me for calling her on Wednesday morning, expecting her to have an arrangement delivered by three o’clock the next day.
There were schedules to be considered, she said. They too had three funerals this week. We will be working late tonight, she told me.
But people don’t die on schedule, I said. And you are a florist. (I mean, was it a front? Was there a bookie shop behind the baby's breath?) I hope I did not sound defensive but knowing me, I probably did. This is the first opportunity I have had to call and do this, I semi-whined, and now I’ve been working at it for well over an hour.
Neither her tone nor her mood improved upon receipt of that information.
We discussed one or two more options before she told me (without the vaguest hint of remorse) that she was certain that nothing she could do for me would be anything I would like.
I thanked her for her time and ended the call.
Desperate, and well into the second hour of my quest, I again called Janet’s Floral. Jan answered and remembered my name.
I wondered whether I could talk to the person who would actually be making the flower arrangement, if we could in fact determine that there were enough blooms in Williamsport, or Lycoming County, or North-Central Pennsylvania, to complete one.
And ended up speaking with a lovely person named Heidi. Explaining my dilemma, I waited for her to say that all would be well. Not to worry. But what she said was, You should have called me first.
But I DID call you first! I said.
But you didn’t talk to ME, she said. You talked to Jan. (NOT Janet, I thought.)
She had me there.
Getting back to the subject at hand, I asked whether we could abandon the idea of my ordering something that was pictured, and just sort of freelance with what she had available.
(All the while I am picturing a florist shop with nothing but a random daisy or carnation here and there, and leaves littering the floor. Empty flower buckets gaping moistly. The faint odor of lilies in the air.)
She said that she loved to do that type of thing, and so I chose an arrangement on the other florist’s website that I liked, and she pulled it up on her phone, and I wondered whether she could use that one as inspiration. As far as the colors and so forth.
Well, I don’t have lilies except for white, and I don’t have peach Gerber daisies but I do have some orange roses (not pumpkin orange, I hoped, and she said no, they were a paler shade), and beige carnations. And she mentioned using something that looks like a small black-eyed Susan as an accent flower.
Now we are getting somewhere, I thought. And it’s not quite noon on the East Coast yet!
I mentioned that I was going for a woodsy, outdoorsy, rather wild look, as David had been an avid hunter, and that I was partial to eucalyptus and curly willow rather than ferns, and we discussed it for about five more minutes and, Bob’s your uncle, we were ready to do business.
We got payment out of the way. I was told that there would be a twelve-dollar charge to deliver the flowers.
Mind you, Janet’s Floral is directly next door to the church where the viewings and funeral would be held. I didn’t expect them to walk the flowers over there, winter wind gusts being what they are, but by delivery van it would take perhaps five minutes from I'm leaving to I'm back.
No, said Heidi. We have to deliver them to the mortuary and the mortuary brings them to the church.
So, twelve dollars to put our flowers into a delivery van, drive right past the church where the flowers will end up, and take them to the mortuary where they will be put into another delivery van and brought back to the church.
Make it make sense.
But they had me over the proverbial barrel and in the spirit of in for a penny, in for a pound, I thanked Heidi and asked whether I could text her the copy and names for our card to accompany the flowers.
She said certainly, and recited her cell phone number, and promised to send me a photo of the easel once the arrangement was finished and ready to spend the night in the cooler.
And so I did my part, and Heidi did hers, and I was pleased, and the flowers made their circuitous route to the church yesterday, and were there in time for the family viewing at three o’clock and the public viewing at four.
And Stephanie was gracious enough to send us the photos in this post, so that we could see our flowers in the setting for which they were intended.
I forwarded those pictures to Heidi, and thanked her again for her excellent assistance, and she said that she would share the photos with Janet (not Jan!), who would be equally happy.
Joel at his dad's viewing, reading our card
Grief is brutal, and many tears are being shed by David’s loved ones, but flowers, being part of God’s nature, are a comfort.
As are the prayers and well wishes of those who care.
I know that Joel and Stephanie and Melanie and Allissa and Andrew and all of the others would appreciate your prayers today as they say their tender -- but temporary -- farewells to their dad and grandpa.
And that is all for now.
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Happy Friday :: Happy Weekend