By Marilyn Kortemeier
My teacher was a Franciscan Nun
Those are the traditional ones people think of when they think of nuns.
She was about 40 when I knew her.
I was 4.
I loved her so.
We first met when I was in church with my mother.
Sister Fleurette took pity on my mom.
Gave her 15 minutes a week of peace and quiet
In the church.
I was too young, but she took me any way
Into the children’s’ catechism class
With my 5 year old brother. He was the right age.
She taught me what I’ll never forget.
That Jesus loved me so much he would come and sit down right beside me
If I made him a space and invited him to come.
That has stayed with me through the dark times.
It has stayed through all the angst.
It stayed when I felt like a worm.
It stayed when everyone hated me.
It stayed through my ugliness
I was never pretty.
It stayed through all my stupidity. My brother was the smart one.
It stayed through my dad being so drunk he fell out of a rocking chair onto the floor in front of Guests.
It stayed through my mom’s smoking until she smoked herself into the grave.
It stayed through my getting the best dog in the world.
It stayed when she was taken away from me and then brought back again.
It stayed through all the lousy holidays.
It stayed when my Grandpa died,
It stayed when my Grandma died.
It stayed through all the losses of my life, and now sometimes the gains.
Jesus loves me; the dumb, the awkward, the ugly the one who remembers and the one who is still hanging in there trying.
The picture was taken 3 years later on the occasion of my First Holy Communion, Oct. 22, 1956. It was also my 7th birthday.
Did you enjoy my story? Please let me know what you think by leaving a review! Thanks, SargeWrite a Review