YOU SHOULD CONSIDER BEING "DOMESTIC HELP"

That's a direct quote from a Catholic nun,director of Saint Mary's College in Indianapolis, soon after World War II.  Here's the story, and more.
I was driving a van that carried people with what is called ESRD, <End Stage Renal Disease.>  Many of these people are constrained to get their blood mechanically filtered in a machine that emulates the work of the human kidney.  The process is known as dialysis and it is required three times per week in a shift that usually lasts from three to four hours.  It happened that one of my passengers was a lady approaching her 80's.  Except for her kidney condition, she was, and I take it, still is, a young 80.  I had to pick her up at 3:55 AM so that I could drive the 28 mile trip through the hilly country road to the dialysis center and get her there on time for the beginning of her shift.  I always had the radio playing soft classical music where ever I went.  It didn't take long before Miss Audrey took a liking to the music she was hearing, but she didn't say anything about it too early on.  After all, as I found out later, she had to evaluate my driving skills first.  Then she could make a comment about the music.  I transported Miss Audrey for about six months.  Three times per week.  3:55 AM going, 9:00 AM back.  Under those circumstances you have a good chance to get to know one another and either like it or suffer through it.  As it turns out, we enjoyed it.  I say, deeply enjoyed it.
One day, it was foggy.  A regular happening in Southern California.  It was about two weeks into our tin can relationship.  I didn't shy away from the foggy, hilly, unlit road.  I just drove and listened to the music.  The music, as it turns out was soft and pretty that morning.  Miss Audrey didn't say too much, and I didn't know that she wasn't listening to the music.  No sir!  She was judging and evaluating and seeing how comfortable she could be on such a morning with this grey-haired driver.  At the end of the ride, which was in clear weather, I parked, got out of the van and as usual helped her with her ditty bag and the long step down from the vehicle and into the lobby of the treatment center.  Imagine my surprise when she extended her hand and wanted to shake mine in appreciation for a job well done.  I honestly didn't know what to say.  So I said, "Thank you, Ma'am" and went on my way.  Turns out that I couldn't pick her up because an urgent call came in and I had to go somewhere else and she got picked up by another driver.  It took them almost an hour to get to their destination because the driver was afraid to take the back hills road.  Oh boy-o-boy, the next ride down was exciting, +.  Fast forward two or three trips and the music is sweet once again.  She names the piece, the conductor and the key it was written in.  She tells me the story of where she learned that and what she did after she graduated.  That's when she said, "Graduating wasn't hard, but getting in was."  
She told me the story about growing up a real smart African American child and having specialized music tastes was a rarity.  She knew that she wanted to go to St. Mary's College in Indianapolis to study music.  She had the grades and she had the talent.  She got to the interview with the Head nun, who told her in the lobby, "You should consider being a domestic helper."  Miss Audrey kept her cool, asked to be admitted to the interview room and sat with the Mother for more than one hour.  When it was over, she had her invitation to report to the school and graduated Summa cum Laude.  She said that God gave her the grace of not having to offer the Mother a job as domestic help as she had gone to her eternal abode over a year earlier.
Miss Audrey went on to have a very full life as a college professor of music.  She rarely related the story of her experience with the nun.  When I asked her why she told me, she said that the night I took her through the fog with calm and assured demeanor, she knew that I was praying along the way.  I asked her how she knew that.  "I knew it because when I said that it was going to be an interesting trip at the beginning, you said <my guardian angel never lets me down.>"
I was stunned.  I never remembered saying it.  I guess I did because she remembered.  From that moment on, whenever she would get in the van, we would both say, "Paul's guardian angel, protect us."  We haven't seen one another since I had to stop driving.  I hear that she is fine.  I too am fine, just thinking about such a brave and righteous person.  I know that my thought for the day is, "Why is it the little stuff that they always seem to remember?"