Millie and I have had some lovely talks over the years, always respectful interchanges. In the early 1980s, Millie and I spent one morning a week together as a play date for her grandchild and my daughter, while Millie and I talked over coffee and rolls. At one such visit in 1983 she asked me about the book I was reading--The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco. She hadn't heard of it, so she asked me what it was about.
I could have have prattled about the book for hours, but we both were managing active toddlers, so I quickly sketched it with "It's a sort of Medieval murder mystery, revolving around whether Jesus Christ had a sense of humor. Whether he laughed."
Millie right away said "Of course He laughed. I'm certain that He had a sense of humor." It was her certainty, her immediate and sure response that made the moment memorable.
Over 30 years later, we found ouselves in my house on a twin bed in the room that was hubby's home office until we set the room up for Millie. We sat side by side and chatted as I trimmed her fingernails.
I was thinking about her gout, and about my sciatica when I said, "Sometimes it feels like our bodies are betraying us . . .Do you think that people have their own bodies when they are in heaven? and where do you suppose heaven is, anyway?"
Millie hesitated but briefly, then said "There are lots of ideas about that, but I . . .think people don't have their bodies. Heaven isn't above us or below us, it's all around us. It's everywhere."
I appreciate that she still thinks about things, and can come up with responses that she can be confident about. I like that a lot.
I could have have prattled about the book for hours, but we both were managing active toddlers, so I quickly sketched it with "It's a sort of Medieval murder mystery, revolving around whether Jesus Christ had a sense of humor. Whether he laughed."
Millie right away said "Of course He laughed. I'm certain that He had a sense of humor." It was her certainty, her immediate and sure response that made the moment memorable.
Over 30 years later, we found ouselves in my house on a twin bed in the room that was hubby's home office until we set the room up for Millie. We sat side by side and chatted as I trimmed her fingernails.
I was thinking about her gout, and about my sciatica when I said, "Sometimes it feels like our bodies are betraying us . . .Do you think that people have their own bodies when they are in heaven? and where do you suppose heaven is, anyway?"
Millie hesitated but briefly, then said "There are lots of ideas about that, but I . . .think people don't have their bodies. Heaven isn't above us or below us, it's all around us. It's everywhere."
I appreciate that she still thinks about things, and can come up with responses that she can be confident about. I like that a lot.
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