Sister Carol Anne O`Marie

Sister Mary Helen frowned and cocked her head as if she had not quite heard. That’s one of the advantages of growing old, she thought, stalling for time.

Accepting death, especially sudden and violent death, takes a great deal of hope and trust in God’s promises.

“I’m sure Tom does a lot of good with his particular brand of charm,” Mary Helen said (…) “And remember we’re talking about God here who can write straight with the crookedest lines.” She shrugged and added logically, “God has to if He wants His message out. All He has to write with is a lot of us sinners.”

Whoever invented coffee breaks should be canonized! (…) Only a true saint could think of such a simple way to insert a few quiet minutes into our busy lives; a time when it is considered perfectly respectable to blow and sip and just daydream.

That’s the trouble with some of the young ones today, Mary Helen thought, watching Mike’s serious face. Little to no sense of humor. Everything so deadly serious. You’d think God took a coffee break and left them in charge!

Usually she hated Eileen’s “remember way back when” stories. “Living in the past is a sure sign of aging,” she contended time and time again. But at the moment, the pas seemed comforting.

(…) an ancient Greek, Polybius said, “There is no witness so dreadful, no accuser so terrible as the conscience that dwells in the heart of every man,” (…)

The dogs, tails wagging, ran up to the car and barked ferociously. Eileen peered out of the car window. “I never know which end to believe,” she said.

“You haven’t called his mother yet?” Young Mike Denski looked stricken. Obviously, if he were dead, he’d want his mother to be the first to know.

As far as she was concerned, seventy-two degrees Fahrenheit was God’s temperature and as warm as any place or any person needed to be.