That solitary house

In the earlier post, I showed a picture of a house in a field of flowers.

I got this note from my brother today after he read my blog: 

I know that house. I see it 2-3 times a week. It is on Hwy 29 outside of Winder --even has a rusty barn roof out back. I went in it once, though it is eerily empty now. 

This is why: I was pastor of the church in that rural community and knew practically every country house. The lady who lived there was down in her back and when I visited her the last thing she said before I left was "Preacher. Promise me one thing. Promise me you will do my funeral." 

"Sure," I promised.  Six months later we were living in Columbia. Now 30 YEARS later I still "see" her in her ragged chair by the oil heater with a face full of relief that the matter was settled. And I also still remember one more of my broken promises, and wonder if anyone breaks as many promises as us "preachers."

I love that reflection.  I love the coincidence--that I took a picture of the very house that reminds Bob of a promise he couldn't keep.