small change

She emerged after Mass from the depths of the silent chapel.

She wore dark purple polyester pants with an elastic waistband.  A self-coordinated lavender T-shirt top, demurely covered by a pilled, white cardigan, probably acrylic.

In hand, a cane to steady her walk.  Her other hand held a stainless steel coffee mug with a Missalette tucked under her arm.  She was prepared for anything.

As she approached the altar for her final, daily goodbye, she bowed and saw a glistening 25 cent piece.

It’s not worth much these days.

She stooped her arched back to gather the coin.  She didn’t notice me.  She had trouble walking.

I waited for her to pocked the coin.

She veered off course, backtracking the way she came.

With reverence and ever so silently, she slipped the coin in the Madonna’s offertory box.

It’s not worth much these days.

But small change, in small acts that usually go unnoticed, reveal immense depth and spirit.



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