If someone told you that they found a fork in the road, what would you think? That some careless person had lost an eating utensil or that some philosopher had come to a bend in the road? I've discovered lately that there are some practical and creative uses for something as simple and mundane as a fork.

A Frenchman, an Englishman, and a New Yorker were captured by cannibals. The chief came to them and said, "The bad news is that now that we've caught you, we're going to kill you, put you in a pot, cook you, and eat your innards. Then we are going to use your skins to build a canoe. The good news is that you get to choose how you die."

The Frenchman said, "I take ze sword." The chief gave him a sword. The Frenchman said, "Vive la France!" and ran himself through. The Englishman said, "A pistol for me, please." The chief gave him a pistol. The Englishman pointed it at his head and said, Save the queen!." The Englishman blew his brains out. The New Yorker said, "Gimme a fork." The chief was puzzled, but he gave him a fork. The New Yorker took the fork and started jabbing himself. Blood was gushing out everywhere. The chief was appalled, and asked, "What are you doing?" The New Yorker said defiantly, "There goes your canoe!"

While this story is fictional, this next one is real. Like me, there was a lady diagnosed with a terminal illness. I'll call her Lydia. She had been given three months to live.

Lydia was getting things in order as most of us do when we enter the "count-down" to the end of life. She had her pastor come to her home to discuss her final wishes. For the funeral service, Lydia told the pastor which songs she wanted sung and what scriptures she desired to be read. Lydia also requested that she be buried with her favorite Bible. Just as the pastor was finishing up the writing of her requests for his records, Lydia remembered something very important.

"There's one more thing," she said excitedly. "I want to be buried with a fork in my right hand."

The puzzled pastor raised his heavy eyebrows. Lydia noted his surprise.

"Well, let me explain it, pastor. In all my years of attending church meetings, socials, fund-raisers and potluck dinners, I always remember that when the dishes of the main course were being cleared, someone would inevitably lean over and say, 'Keep your fork.'

"Keeping the fork was my favorite part because I knew something better was coming like velvety chocolate cake or deep-dish apple pie with ice cream. It was always something good and worth waiting for. So, I just want people to see me there in that casket with a fork in my hand. I want them to wonder, 'What's with the fork?' Then I want you to tell them: 'Keep your fork. The best is yet to come!' "

The pastor's eyes welled up with tears of joy as he hugged the woman good-bye. He knew this could be last time he might see her before her death. But, he also knew that the woman had a clearer view of heaven than he did. She knew that something better was coming.

At the funeral, people walked by Lydia's casket. She wore a beautiful pink gown and her favorite Bible laid beside her. Of course, a fork was lightly gripped in her right hand.

Over and over, the pastor heard the question, "What's with the fork?". He smiled and nodded that he would explain later. During the service, the pastor told about the fork and what it symbolized to Lydia.

She knew the same thing I know: The best is yet to come.