E-Letter 181
I spy him standing perplexed in front of the chipped, sweat-stained, concrete statue of Jesus the Good Shepherd cradling a sleeping (or injured?) lamb in his arms. “Who is this, Grandma?” he asks as he tenderly strokes the lamb’s nappy head, caressing the frozen-for-all-time curls reverently like the beads of a rosary. “Jesus,” I answer as I do a mental shuffle anticipating his next question. ”Who is he supposed to be,” he wonders out loud, “a farmer or a doctor who takes care of animals?” I clear my throat. “Yes,” I tell him, and he looks at me quizzically. “Well, which one is he?” he...
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