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Sister Mary John It was silly, even sinful, for Sister Mary John to be so troubled by a thing—she did not believe it even deserved to be called a "problem"—so petty. Not to mention so very . . . so embarrassingly . . . physical. Sister Mary John knew the call would come soon. She would give up this body, exchange this sinful, mortal shell for something divine and pure. The Lord is my shepherd. She was old; naturally, her body was crumbling after the manner of the things of this life. The Lord Giveth and the Lord Taketh Away. Her hearing was almost gone even with the aids in both ears, though she could often make out what people said to her if they spoke loud and moved their lips slowly. But sometimes they would have to write it down for her. The Lord Giveth and the Lord Taketh Away. Blessed be the name of the Lord. The eighty-seven-year-old nun still had her vision. With glasses it was excellent. She couldn't thank the Father, Jesus, the Holy Spirit, and Mary enough. Sadly, she could not teach; she was no longer strong enough and she had trouble understanding the kids because of her hearing loss. She missed the classroom. So many girls had come back to her to tell her that they were grateful to her because of—not just in spite of—her famous strictness and tough grading. "I learned so much in your class, Sister Mary John." What compliment could be more satisfying? Educating young minds, molding them in the ways of the Lord and his Church—why, it was one of the greatest privileges He could give. Knowing that you have helped strengthen the Faith, have done your humble best as a handmaiden of the Lord to aid in making mothers who will raise their children as good Catholics. But it couldn't last forever thought and she thanked God that she was still serving: she could keep the books. Her brain was fine. The Lord had been so good to her. Being a nun was worth the sacrifices: Sister Mary John was certain of that. Which is not to deny that the fleshly sacrifices are real: you lose the beauty and pleasure of sex in marriage, the miracle of childbearing. Occasionally when she saw couples together, holding hands, she suffered a sharp pang of regret that she would never be naked in a bed with a naked man united in the sacrament of marriage, enjoying the intimacy, the excitement, and the sheer physical joy that God created for men and women. These regrets had become especially pronounced when she was around forty and going through menopause (which had been symptom-free in every respect except psychologically, the Lord was so good to her). And she had had to confess her thought-sins and do a lot of penance. The sin of lust plus the sin of envy toward married women. That was the same time that she began looking hungrily at babies and toddlers . . . wondering . . . if she had had a baby . . . She'd done many Hail Marys during that time too, for the envy that stung her at the sight of a big-bellied women. But when the girls she'd taught came back to her and spoke of their children—why, they were Sister Mary John's as well. Catholic children of Catholic mothers. Oh, such a richness of Spirit! But still . . . she was so troubled these days . . . it bothered her terribly and she could not stop thinking about it even though she had prayed and prayed for strength and she knew it was trivial, she knew it was petty. After all, Sister Mary John had dropped vanity when she had taken on the veil as a girl. She was a bride of Christ and He looked only on inner beauty. It was not vanity that troubled her. Not that exactly. She had not suffered over wrinkles, white hair, loss of four teeth, no, not even over the loss of a breast (though the physical pain had been a great grief and had tested her sorely). But she did mind the curvature of the spine. She minded it greatly even though it didn't hurt anymore. It was a sin, God forgive her, it was a sin because she ought to want God's Will, nothing but God's Will. Whatever that might be. It was not vanity. It was . . . it was that . . . she . . . Sister Mary John was now short.
And short was one thing SISTER MARY JOHN WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO BE! __________________________________________
Mother Lode Myra was sorting clothes for laundry, spraying stains, berating herself because of the check that bounced, and watching The Brady Bunch when Derek came home from the library.
Tired, but she mustn't go to sleep till 3. Graveyard shift was OK—you can grocery shop when the stores are empty—and she'd been on it long enough so that her sleep cycle was adjusting, but still, being a nurse's aide wears you out. Derek took books out of his Edgar Allen Poe sack. "Plishhhh . . . If who." "Derek, you've sure checked out a lot of books." Barefoot and barelegged, Myra wore a short dress and light make-up (her lipstick had worn off). Her round, freckled face had flesh-grapes under bright blue eyes and deep lines around a generous mouth. Her gray hair was short and wavy. A heart was tattooed on her wrist and LOVE on her shoulder but (thank God) it was up too high to show unless she went sleeveless.
Together they looked at pictures. Myra turned the pages. __________________________________________
Copyright © Denise Noe 2003 |
Short.