Growing up, one of my nicknames was Sissy. In the area where we lived, that was a pretty common nickname for the oldest daughter.
My dad was a pastor, but he also drove a bus. Every now and then, we would ride along with him. At that time, nuns wore a very distinctive uniform when they were out in public–a head covering and a long black dress–and they were addressed as “sister.”
As a child, it seemed like there were so many of them! We would frequently see nuns while we were riding the bus. And, being the comedian that my dad was, he would tease me and tell me that they were my sisters.
I have to admit, I didn’t find it nearly as amusing as he did!
As I remember it, he also told me that if I misbehaved, those nuns would come and get me. My parents were strict, but in my young mind, they had nothing on the rumored strictness of the nuns!
Of course, these days it doesn’t bother me at all. In fact, I’m glad there are nuns here in Poznan. Every time I see them, it brings back fond memories of being a little girl, riding the bus with my dad, and listening to his teasing.
It’s funny how something that seemed so insignificant when we were young can take on a whole different meaning years later.
Those nuns used to make me think about the “sisters” my dad told me they were. Now, when I see them here in Poznan, they make me think about my family–my childhood, my dad and the home I came from.
I think God has a way of doing that Sometimes He uses the smallest, most unexpected things to remind us of where we have been and of the people who have helped shape us.
I came to Poznan knowing that I was stepping into something new But God has also reminded me that going somewhere new doesn’t mean leaving everything behind.
We carry pieces of home with us.
We carry the lessons our parents taught us. We carry the memories of people we love. We carry the laughter, the stories, and even the silly things that annoyed us as children.
And, sometimes, God brings those memories back at just the right moment,
So now, when I see a nun walking through the streets of Poznan, I don’t think about being afraid that my “sisters” are going to come get me if I misbehave.
I smile!
Because for a moment, I’m that little girl again riding on the bus with her dad.
And I’m reminded that God has been writing my story for a very long time–even in the ordinary moments I didn’t realize would matter someday!
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