The funeral I didn't want

I have been a pastor at the same church for many years, long enough to get to know people, long enough that now I have in confirmation classes some of the children I baptized. Some of my friends are in their third or fourth or fifth call, and here I am, at the same church, still in my second call. There are times, I admit, that I feel a little like a failure.

I have known people for a long time. They have known me for a long time. I don't always know if this is a good thing.

Five years ago I got a call to visit someone in the hospital, a woman I knew well. She made special Scandinavian cookies for my wedding, delicate, delicious cookies with pretty shapes pressed into them. She could also make the most amazing bookmarks, using a fine needlework pattern called hardangar. She had a good husband and two beloved children, both of which I had in confirmation. The confirmation and graduation open houses were amazing. (I have recipes.) She was also an accomplished gardener, baker, cook, seamstress, and a nurse by vocation. She attended a regular women's Bible study in her neighborhood and would come to me on occasion with questions with regard to the interpretations used in the Bible study materials.