‘‘Afternoon babysitter needed.” That was the ad I put in our local shopper news paper, a common way to find help back in 1975. My firstborn, Jenny, was six weeks old, and I was scheduled to return to work teaching half days at school. “Maybe we’ll find a grand mother who raised a big family of her own,” I said to my husband, Don, after placing it. I didn’t have much experience with children myself and thought I could use a good role model.
A few days later I received a call from an applicant. Not a grandmoth er or even a mother. “A nun?” I re peated, unsure I’d heard her correctly.
Two nuns, as it turned out when they arrived at the house to meet us. Sister Thomasine and Sister Joan, of the order known as the Humility Sisters. Thomasine would do the babysitting, but she didn’t drive, so Joan would bring her to and from our house.
“We work at the rectory,” Sister Joan explained. “I do the cooking.”
“I do the laundry,” Sister Thomasine said. “We do the cleaning together.”
“But our afternoons are free,” Sister Joan added.
هذه القصة مأخوذة من طبعة Jan/Feb 2021 من Angels on Earth.
ابدأ النسخة التجريبية المجانية من Magzter GOLD لمدة 7 أيام للوصول إلى آلاف القصص المتميزة المنسقة وأكثر من 9,000 مجلة وصحيفة.
بالفعل مشترك ? تسجيل الدخول
هذه القصة مأخوذة من طبعة Jan/Feb 2021 من Angels on Earth.
ابدأ النسخة التجريبية المجانية من Magzter GOLD لمدة 7 أيام للوصول إلى آلاف القصص المتميزة المنسقة وأكثر من 9,000 مجلة وصحيفة.
بالفعل مشترك? تسجيل الدخول
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