Aunt Betty, the eldest of my mother’s five sisters, was a nun. She lived and worked in some exotic place called “Pennsylvania,” and every now and then came up for a visit. As a very young child, I found her old-fashioned black habit… well, it used to scare me.
But Betty was determined to win me over, and that she did. I don’t know where this notion came from, but I believed “Pennsylvania” still had mammoths and that my aunt could somehow get one for me. And she made the mistake of saying she’d see what she could do.
Naturally I expected her to come up with a real, live mammoth all my own. I pestered Grandma about it. And one day Aunt Betty showed up with a mammoth–just for me.
I was disappointed. It was just a little mammoth shape cut from someone’s old fur coat. But what I wouldn’t give to have it now! And once I understood that this little cut-out was the best that she could do, I became very attached to her.
What a mind she had! She knew all the classics, in English and in Latin, and had a gift for talking to you as if you were all grown up already. We grew closer as the years went by. I could listen to her for hours. But she has since gone to her reward, and our next family dinner will be laid out for us in Christ’s Kingdom.
I wonder if she’ll like my books.