The Way

A very short story about a Nun.

She was on her knees in front of the statue of the saint, praying in a feverish, frantic voice, her fingers rubbing over the rosary beads so hard, she worried they may break. She prayed and prayed to the saint to save her from this situation, to free her of her sin and petition God to help her through these tough times.

Then it hit her.

It was a statue. She looked up at it, yep, just a painted statue. And it wasn't even a very good statue, the face didn't look very realistic, and the paint was peeling from around the ears and neck.

What had she done?

She had lived in this convent for over ten years. Ten years and all of a sudden now, for reasons she couldn't explain, it seemed awfully silly for her to be kneeling in front of this tacky statue, begging it to help her. What business did this statue have talking to God? And if it had any, how a hunk of plaster and cheap paint have more business with the Lord God Almighty than she did?

And what would Father Aaronson think if he knew these thoughts she was thinking? She began to laugh. Father Aaronson may not approve of her lapse in faith, but who was he to judge her? He was the reason she was asking forgiveness now. He was probably more fake than this stupid statue.

She rose from her knees, kissed the cheek of the chunk of plaster, and said, "Thank you, oh Holy saint, for you have shown me the true way to my God".

She dropped her rosary at it's feet and walked out of the convent, pulling her habit from her head as she did.