I’ve eavesdropped on a lot of funerals. I’m hired to play prelude and postlude music, but in between I meet the most fascinating and well loved people – through the ones who love them the most. It’s a unique way to learn how to live life well – and, reading between the lines, maybe not so well. I’ve even contemplated writing a book about what I’ve learned from funerals…maybe something akin to Robert Fulgham’s Everything I Needed To Know I Learned In Kindergarten. I have learned to always have a kleenex with me. No matter how detached I feel, whatever else is competing for my thoughts, I’m held rapt with attention as the eulogies are read. Because when you only have several minutes to encapsulate what you love about someone, you choose the very best and brightest things, what meant the most to you. Chad and Gina talked about their grandma’s food and how it nourished more than their stomachs. She loved with food and it nourished their souls. About a month ago I played for the funeral of a man who played an integral role in raising his three grandsons. One by one, each now a grown man, they talked about their grandpa. Punctuating their stories were phrases like, “…and just like grandpa….if you knew grandpa you would know that…he would always…I’ll never forget…” I’ve wondered before how it is that I can cry for the loss of someone I’ve never met. I think it’s that raw emotion is a mirror. I realize it’s only a matter of time before I’ll be the one trying to capture the essence of a treasured relationship in just several minutes and a couple of sheets of foolscap. Father’s Day is this weekend, and Aaron and I are both part of a drama for Beulah’s weekend services – a series of vignettes, shot in silhouette, to the song Nothing To Prove by Phillips, Craig and Dean. (Aaron’s on the bike at the beginning and he took his helmeted role very seriously). Tonight I actually heard the song for the first time, watching the silhouettes telling the story. You can see it here. And Happy Father’s Day, Dad.