Sister, I revered
your vestments, your sacrifice,
could become like you and give
all for the love of just One.
When I was in first grade, I identified faith with clothing. On Sundays, my mother brought out her best hat and wore her stockings with the seams up the back. Sister Annette, on the other hand, wore the same habit every day, adorned only with a cross and her smiling face. The choice seemed black and white to me then: beautification or beatification. Admiring my own special Sunday shoes and lace-edged socks, I imagined giving them up in service. As I grew older, my daydreams expanded, making me a missionary in native dress, off to explore a new culture. Even now, at 62, I still like to imagine myself in a far-off country, serving rice.