Sister Marie has a smile on her face. She is the first to climb the makeshift port where, at a distance, six-year-old J. comes pulling this small raft over the water. You climb atop that tiny square, trying to remember that newspaper game you played as children. You know that one, right? I recall having a partner, hearing the music, folding a newspaper in half several times until there was only so little space–and only the couple who could balance on the smallest of squares won.
I wondered then if the same was true in life? Are we all just dancing over smaller and smaller surfaces–sharing this space or taking it from others?
Only two things kept me afloat that day: the clearest image of my face mirrored in the blackest water I’ve seen and the unerring smile of Sr. Marie.