Salvation Amy

Across the street from my office is a very small convent, wherein live a handful of aging nuns. There is one particular nun that I like a lot. She’s on the older side - I’m not a great judge of age, but I would guess that she’s older than my mom, younger than my grandma. She walks slowly with one of those canes with the four prongs on the bottom.

I have nicknamed this nun Sister Mary Jaywalker, in honor of her habit of walking kitty corner from the convent to the church every day, in our busy little neighborhood, where stop signs and speed limits are treated, often, as matters of personal choice.

I can see her from my office sometimes, through the window, and she consistently crosses slowly and deliberately, diagonally across the intersection. Sometimes I see her from outside, when I’m on the balcony, or on the street, and I harp at her about her jaywalking. She tells me she doesn’t. I laugh at her and smile, and tell her I’ve seen her, and remind her that God just heard her tell me a bald faced lie, and then we laugh like old friends.

This morning I was on the balcony, and I saw her start to cut across the corners. As she stepped off of the point of the curb, she looked up, saw me, smiled, and made her way to the crosswalk. Add that to my to do list. Watch the nun and keep her safe.