In 1993 my parents showed me the church they attended in a small town in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. An elderly lady directed my attention to one of the many stained glass windows, noting how one could make out the image of the Blessed Mary along one portion of the glass. Granted, there was a tenuous resemblance to a female image housed within the fragments of color but I resisted the urge to say: “How do you know it’s not Mary’s neighbor Mildred?”
BILL
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