Four times in the summer of 2013, I had to take the last ride to the graveyard in the passenger seat of a hearse with a casket behind me. Four times I watched as families, husbands, wives, mothers, daughters, sisters, brothers and grandchildren cried and said goodbye in the South Texas heat.
Over the years, as I have officiated at the funerals of many Rio Grande Valley people, I have learned the protocol of the last ride to the graveyard. When the funeral ends, I stand at the head of the casket as the family members pay their respects. Then the casket is closed, the pallbearers put on white gloves and carry the casket out into the hot, Texas sun and load it into the waiting hearse. The funeral director then opens the front door of the hearse for me, and, once I climb in, usually hands me a coke to drink.
On one occasion, the funeral director handed me a Diet Coke. As I looked at the can with a confused look on my face, he said, “Sorry, Pastor; Your wife got to me on the way out here.” After another funeral, as the funeral director turned the ignition, Lady Gaga’s “Poker Face” started blaring out of the car speakers. His face turned red, and he said, “Sorry; had the hearse washed today.”
Then, on our way to the graveyard, we usually chat together about family, sports and the weather. As the constables race up with their car lights flashing to block off each intersection, the hearse keeps rolling along, the little flags on the hood flapping in the breeze.
After the funeral of a close, family friend, I took a sip of coke, turned to the funeral director and said, “I’m sorry; the lady in the casket is a friend; I’m just going to cry if that’s all right.” And I cried all the way to the graveyard.
Sometimes the funeral director drives by the family home one last time on the way to the graveyard. But, eventually, the hearse pulls into one of the many quiet graveyards in South Texas.
I climb out of the hearse, put on my suit jacket, and quietly lead the pallbearers carrying the casket to the grave, where the family is waiting and sweating under a green tent. Sometimes the funeral director provides cups of water for the assembled family and friends, and, several times this summer, mosquito spray. This is where we read the promises of eternal life through Jesus from the Bible and say our final goodbyes. The hardest part is when the family members gather around the casket for the last time.
Four times in the summer of 2013, I took that last ride to the graveyard in the passenger seat of a hearse with a casket behind me. Four times I watched as families, husbands, wives, fathers, mothers, daughters, sisters, brothers and grandchildren cried and said goodbye in the South Texas heat.
Do you know what I never heard in those moments? I never heard anyone say, “Man I wish he had spent more time at the office.” “I wish he had made more money.””I wish we had a bigger house or a nicer car.” Why? Because, in the end, those things don’t matter anymore. What we have, after that last ride, is love, memories of time spent together, and the hope of heaven.
You have moments to share now. You have love to give now. Please don’t waste it.
Posted by Albino Hayford 
We walked down the surprisingly narrow hallway, the deep carpet cushioning our steps, as our secret service agent friend led us toward an open door. “No way. That can’t be what I think it is…can it?” Yes, it was.
As I sat in the carport of Chase Bank, waiting for my deposit slip to come shooting out in an air tube, my Ford’s engine began to make chugging, gasping noises. “Oh no”, I thought, “I ran out of gas”. Sure enough, the gas guage read “E”; the car coughed twice, then was quiet. 
Yesterday afternoon, sitting on an American Airlines airplane, I listened to the flight attendant command us to turn off all cell phones and portable electronic devices right before takeoff. We have all heard and obeyed this command for years, believing that somehow our cell phones and ipods could somehow bring down a jet. 
I am always reading six or seven books at a time, moving back and forth between them, some for work and some for pleasure. If I get really engrossed, I may keep reading one while neglecting the others. 
Last week I shoved all my birthday money into my pockets, drove to Sam’s Club, and emerged one hour later with a 
My brother Sam died one year ago today. It was a stormy, rainy Sunday morning when I was called out of church to rush to his bedside at the hospice where we sang quietly as he was ushered into Heaven. 
I spent the last week in the beautiful state of Minnesota, visiting friends and family, and participating in the board meetings of Christian Fellowship Union. Once I get over the initial shock of everyone looking exactly like me, I always enjoy Minnesota.
Although a semi-frequent guest on Christian television, every once in a while, Albino makes an appearance on the local news. Last week I slid into the Hispanic Pastors’ Alliance meeting late (I know what you’re thinking, but I represent my church at these meetings) and casually dressed. I almost always wear a suit (reflects that you believe the monthly meeting is important), but this time I figured, “It’s summer and I’m hot, so I’m going in a pair of slacks and a polo shirt.” When I arrived, I opened the door to discover three local mayors, three police chiefs, and a television crew from Telemundo all staring at a very large, casually-dressed Anglo with his mouth agape. 
Word to the Wise 