I posted a rhetorical question earlier on my Facebook page today wondering what God was trying to tell me by way of last night's thunder storm. I've considered it carefully and this is what I've come up with...
Eventually something did happen. She could have hurt herself, but she didn't. Sister would carry her supplies in a large, clear bag. During a spelling test - oh, sweet karma - as she reached over to grab it, her chair went out from under her and she landed on her fannie. Most of the class was quiet or asked her respectfully if she were ok. No, not me. I and several other comrades laughed loud and heartily. There was no mistaking the fact that we were wicked, wicked children and did not like Sister Mary Jose. The three hours of picking weeds behind the convent (typical hard labor punishment) was well worth the crime. In fact, I would have gladly done more time.
Then there was Sister Mary Agnel. She taught the fifth grade and was terrifying to behold. At the time, next to my great Uncle Art, I didn't know a face could have so many wrinkles. When she spoke it was as if a thousand eating utensils were being scraped across a wash board. She was strict and was not to be crossed. On Friday mornings, instead of going directly to school, we were required to meet at the church several blocks away for 8:00am mass and sit with our respective classes. My little gang of friends and I would sit towards the front or at least as far away from Sister as we could get. The word, "GIRLS!", would often come hissing from the utinsily voice from the end of the pew. One more time and that would be it. We would be pulled from our seats and have to sit next to her with one of the truly awful boys in the last row. Total misery and humiliation! As it turns out, all these years later, I loved Sister Mary Agnel the most and I know she loved her "GIRLS!" very much. I think about her almost every day. I wish I could have had the opportunity to tell her but somehow, after last night's thunderstorm, I think she knows.
So, the thunderstorm last night. It kept me awake and made me consider what God was trying to say to me. Oh wicked, wicked girl...mend thy ways?! I know that Sister Mary Agnel probably knew I was wicked in the fifth grade and secretly liked that about me. I'm sure she smiled when I wasn't watching or maybe I was watching but couldn't see it through all her wrinkles. Who knows? Maybe the thunder was her shouting, "GIRLS!" from the end of the pew again. If that's the case, I heard you loud and clear Sister. No need to shout. I'll try to behave a little more.
By the way, if that was you Sister Mary Agnel, please let God know I got His message too. And, just for good measure I'll say an extra Hail Mary for Sister Mary Jose. It's about time I let go of the grudge. Pardon, me teacher. Pardon me class.