A minister

was asked to do the funeral for a real rascal.

A man

approached him and said, "I know my brother was a

lying, drunken cheat who ran around on his wife and never

amounted to anything. But you will refer to him as a

saint."

That was a

tough assignment! The pastor knew both men were lying,

drunken cheats. In fact, younger brother had a worse

reputation than older brother. Funeral time came, and the

pastor decided to shoot straight. He said, "We all

know this man was a horrible, no good, miserable

low-life, but compared to his brother sitting over there,

he was a saint!"

Funerals

are much easier to do if there is good stuff to say. I

recently spoke at the funeral of a former church member.

It was one of the easiest funerals I ever did because

there was a lot of good material on Jennings Key.

Jennings did a lot of good living between May 10, 1913

and Jan. 11, 2000. Jennings did not just go through the

motions. He chose to live life.

Jennings

chose life through his positive attitude. Someone said

that your attitude determines your altitude, and Jennings

soared. He was born into rough, rural conditions. He

lived at one time in railroad cars while his father made

a living working the railroad. He saw the depression up

close and personal. He knew cold winter nights. But he

rose above his circumstances, as many of his generation

did, and worked hard to make something of himself. He was

never materially successful, but he was happy.

When his

wife developed Alzheimer's, Jennings devoted himself to

her every need, standing by her with much patience and

courage. When her mind was gone, Wynelle would constantly

ask, "Do you love me? Do you love me?" She

asked it a hundred times each day. Jennings would never

ignore her. He was once asked, "Jennings, you don't

have to answer `do you love me?' every time, do

you?" He responded, "She likes to hear that I

love her." And he did.

Jennings

chose life through his other relationships. He was well

thought of in his church and community. He always had a

special relationship with his pastors and really reached

out to me as his preacher. He was a dear friend who

encouraged and always had a good word. He never let me

pick up the tab after eating lunch together. He'd say,

"I like our arrangement just fine."

Jennings

chose life through his faith. He lived his faith. When

you think of Jennings, you think of words like committed,

faithful, active, present, concerned, dedicated, serving.

He sang in the choir. He served as a deacon. He

contributed his handy-man talents as he helped to keep

the church building fixed up. He was generous. He loved

his church.

During one

of my last sermons there before moving to this pastorate,

I was preaching on fellowship. I suggested that maybe we

could get to know one another better and meet new members

try it next Sunday. I saw movement out of the corner of

my eye and noticed Jennings shaking his head

"no." I kidded him about it the next week when

we went to lunch and he said, "I've been sitting on

that pew for over 80 years. My daddy sat on that

pew."

Now,

Jennings understood the church belonged to God, but after

that conversation, I understood that pew belonged to

Jennings. He wasn't about to move. On the afternoon

before his death, some church members visited him. They

were commenting that a certain fussy acquaintance had

moved to a nearby town. He immediately replied,

"That's not far enough!" He was a colorful guy.

I share

about Jennings to remind us that we have the same choice

Jennings had. We can choose to live life, to keep a

positive attitude, to be a good influence. We cannot

necessarily control the number of days we live, but we

can make each day count.

We can't

add years to our life, but we can add life to our years.

What we do with that dash between our date of birth and

the date of death is entirely up to us.

What kind

of material are we writing?

The Rev.

Dr. David L. Chancey is pastor of McDonough Road Baptist

Church.