When I was growing up with my two older brothers and older sister. We had a lot of mismatched silverware we used every day, but in the closet was a box with velvet lining that held the real silverware, set aside for special occasions. In a large Italian family, we had a lot of special occasions, but the real silverware never made the kids table. Among the mismatched silverware was the iron fork, it was thick, heavy, and rough. It sent chills down your spine when it rubbed against your teeth. It even had an iron taste. None of the kids wanted to use it, however my sister made sure that I got it whenever possible.

Some years later I found Jesus and started reading the bible and was finally able to escape my reckless and pointless  lifestyle. My sister was imbedded in eastern religions, and we would talk on the phone, sometimes till my phone battery died. It always started out pleasant, I would try to convince her to read the bible for herself and meet the Holy Spirit because God had a bigger and brighter path for her then the path she chose. Though we would argue for hours we stayed close. She also studied health and was a health food fanatic, so whenever my wife or I had any kind of ailment she was the first one I called. She would tell us what supplements to take, and the supplements she recommended always worked. The times I went up north to visit I would take her to lunch at a place called Wegman’s. It’s a combination grocery store/ food court/ health food store/ where she would be able to eat healthy and I would get to try foods I didn’t know existed. On some occasions I would have lunch at her house, and again more than 60 years later there it was next to my plate. “The Iron Fork!”

At my house we have some mismatched miniature spoons and forks, and low and behold a miniature thick and heavy, “iron fork.” I always put it on the bottom of the pile. Sometime after my sister passed on to the next life, my wife saw tears in my eyes as I was holding the iron fork. I told her the story and started using the fork more often because it reminded me of Marie.

One day my wife was putting dishes in the kitchen sink and picked up the iron fork. She was thinking of Marie and said to God, Butch never got to say good-by. God said to her “she’s with Me!” My wife, who would hear me arguing on the phone about religion and seeing how frustrated I was, would say to me. You’re talking to Marie aren’t you. She would have to step in like a referee after an hour or so and get me off the phone. She started to question God. God said, Butch has planted seeds in Marie for more than 30 Years. I didn’t know I was planting seeds; I was just arguing with her about the things I was learning about God. And that was God’s way of letting me know, I will see her again. Never stop planting!