Nuns…. When life gets bad they find me.
It’s a weird thing.
When I was 19 my mother started dating a man 15 years her senior. A few months later I moved back in with them. 2 months later, they were both in accidents, that made them unable to work. I picked up the slack ,2 jobs and school.
He never, until the very end made me feel like anything less than his daughter.
He is a long story…
But the point, he had a cousin, in her eighties, never married and worked in a church as a maid and cook for the priests. She lived in her parents home of gothic antiques. I loved her. She’d come over and we would cook and dance and sing and laugh. When she pasted I was left the most favorite of her treasures. As she called it… The beautiful creepy stuff.
So one day making pizzas I told her… The nuns follow me. She said “what?”
I told her before anything big happens I see them everywhere I go. Before 9-11, they took the ferry with me and sat next to me for 2 weeks. Right before my grandparents died they were there. When I was pregnant they were always with me. All types of nuns… But always …. There. G said it was god walking with you and they are sent to keep you safe.
So as of Wednesday the nuns are back. I see them everyday. I know it’s Her way of saying I’m here, we are protecting you.
Something will happen and its soon. I’m just waiting to see and waiting for the time when they go away again.
The nun doll and 3 other objects in my house were hers. I will never get rid of them. She was one of the most precious people ever.
Slave Stories for My Sir 
Once again I loved it. God gives us mysteries, not whodunnits written by Agathia Christie, but experiences and events, that we never quite figure out. We must simply “be” with them. Love, in all of its forms, is such a mystery.
“And Mary kept all these things and pondered them in her heart”. Not even Mary figured it all outm
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It’s funny, in my 20’s the nuns freaked me out. Now I …. Almost thank them? They are my warning, my reminder of things greater than me.
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I remember after my mom passed away, that first Christmas after her death, I prayed feverantly asking for a sign that she was okay. I prayed specifically for a white feather. I don’t know why, maybe the purity of white? When I got into church, after walking through a dirty snow and salt covered lot on the bottom of my show was a feather as white as purely fallen snow. I still have that feather.
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