Article June 6, 2005 Issue

A HUNDRED WAYS OF LOVING

Healing is never more than a prayer away from any of us.

By Kim Shippey

CHRISTINE IS EIGHT AND AS BRIGHT AS A BUTTON. TELL HER A BEDTIME STORY with numbers in it, and she'll do the math as you go along to make sure you're not taking too much poetic license.

One afternoon a few weeks ago, she was furious with her mom over some perceived injustice relating to Christine's treatment of her elder sister. Christine's protest was loud and emotional—and lubricated with tears.

I hadn't really listened to the altercation, but I was happy to help where I could. I was close enough to reach out for Christine's hand and draw her aside. "Let's go someplace where just the two of us can talk," I suggested.

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