It had to be light years since she'd been a school girl, we thought.

We saw her ancient, though unwise,
and felt wonder at such close-up
longevity. It had to be light years
since she'd been a schoolgirl, we
thought. It was hard to conceive
everything about her, but at eye
level we could see she had been
pretty, maybe beautiful even.
Now, however, the beauty lay in her
daughter, who cared for her mother
round-the-clock, better care than
that available in some strange home.
It was highly personal--a care that
seemed laced with love or, if not,
then based on guilt. Mustn't such
close care be the result of one
or the other?
We snickered when she'd clap
her hands and sing Jesus songs.
Selections we knew ourselves.
How strange, we felt, that she was
one of us--a child again but with
different skin, white hair and a
wheelchair. A child who wouldn't
answer our questions.
There was little doubt as to her
not-too-distant destination for,
by becoming a child again, she
was fit to enter the Kingdom.
Just like in the Scriptures.
Fit to a T.