My dad always told “Sister Ellen” stories. They were some of his best sermon illustrations along with Brer Rabbit. Whenever he said, “Sister Ellen,” my ears perked up because I knew a story was coming. I don’t have a sister Ellen, but I do have two sisters by different names.
Sister Lynn is my oldest sister. She was too busy for a little sister. I accused her of always having her nose in a book growing up – except when she was sporting a new boyfriend. Let me just tell you, we were well entertained with her new beaus!
Sister Margaret & I would spy on her. I don’t know why she’d get mad about that! She was too young to date anyway – and I told mama and daddy so!
She wasn’t always too tolerant of a little sister. One day she walked in the bedroom we girls shared and caught me modeling some of her undergarments, complete with sock stuffing. She was furious and went to Mama demanding that I leave her stuff alone. Imagine that! Well, maybe that was a good thing – because from then on, I only wore socks on my feet, reluctantly, and occasionally on my hands when I couldn’t find gloves.
I don’t think Daddy modeled Sister Ellen’s clothes, but he did write her a nice birthday poem one year. That same poem could have been written to my sisters as well:
To Sister Ellen
You are the work of mystery,
You carry the seeds of majesty,
You are the works for miracle,
You carry the breath of eternity.
