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For you, parent

A spiritual reflection for the parent

A longer reading for whenever the house grows quiet. Save it, print it, or leave it for another day.

About 10 min

There is an old story of a man who died and went up to heaven. He knocked at the gate and was admitted, though somewhat grudgingly, by St. Peter, who asked one of the angels, attendant at the gate for this purpose, to show the new arrival to his mansion. The angel led him through the streets of heaven with their dazzling mansions built of precious stones; the very streets were paved with precious stones, so that he could scarcely believe that heaven itself could be so beautiful. As they went on, they came to streets where all the mansions were built of purest gold; these gave way to mansions of silver, then to handsome villas of cut stone, and finally, to the newcomer's surprise, to plain bricks and mortar and even to ferroconcrete. But still they went on until at last, on the very outskirts of the celestial city, the angel pointed out to him his mansion, a mere shack built of a few boards nailed together, with, believe it or not, a corrugated iron roof. When he was assigned to this accommodation, the poor soul could not altogether hide his disappointment, and the angel, noticing it, said to him: "Yes, I am afraid it is a poor sort of place, but, you know, we did the very best we could with the materials you sent up."

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