Emily

Long ago, Christmas morning, we drove through snow to see great aunt Emily. Ninety years old, she sat in a rocker, Bible close by, sewing basket in her lap. Christmas cards covered the mantel and hung on ribbons all about the room. I stood before her. “Bring me a card,” she said. I picked one I could reach, a jolly St. Nick, and gave it to her. With sewing scissors, quick and precise, she cut around the picture of Santa and held it out to me. It was a small gift to a small boy, but a gift never forgotten.