Tribute to my Sister
by Naomi Newcomb
She was 12 when I was born. She was fourth born and I was the last born of eleven children. As soon as I was old enough to use a hoe, I was asked to join the others hoeing thistles out of the cow pastures. My earliest memory of Vera was of her joining us in that long and boring job under the hot summer sun. She was old enough to have “graduated” to more sophisticated jobs, but she chose to help teach the younger ones by working with them and not just being the boss.
She was liked by more than her family. Rumor has it that she had many suitors, but the one she chose won my heart when he remembered me with a small gift upon his return from serving his country. I still treasure that cloth handkerchief imprinted with a colorful map of Florida.
Before long, I was 12 and she was the mother of two. I remember spending a whole week with her family in their first home–a small house trailer. I felt special in her home. I also felt close to God there. Their whole family would kneel beside their bed and pray every night before bed time. That tradition stayed even when their children were teenagers and their house was much bigger.
Last week I stayed in her guest room. This time to prepare for auction of our parents earthly possessions. Her house is quieter now. The children are grown with families of their own. When I crawled in bed at night I noticed a picture on her guest room wall of a young girl kneeling in prayer by her bed. My heart was warmed. I’m very thankful for a sister that exemplifies a strong faith–the kind that can never be sold at an auction.