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 by sitting in a different pew each Sunday. I suggested we 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.

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