Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Sister Clara, by Medea (medeafk@hotmail.com)

   Sister Clara had a dream last night.  In the dream, she was sad, and she
started to cry, but then the air began to quiver and glow with angels and
cherubim.  They sang for her, something that sounded like Latin, but she
couldn't follow the words.  Jesus appeared before her, surrounded by an
aura of love.  He put his arms around her, and whispered, "Shh.  It's all
going to be just fine." She leaned against him, comforted by his touch.  He
stroked her hair softly, and she felt so loved and relaxed and comfortable
beside him that she wanted to stay like this forever.  When she woke up the
next morning, she was sad to let him go.

   Sister Clara works at the women's shelter downtown.  She's the
administrator there, and there are always more people than she can help,
but she tries, even when it seems overwhelming.  The long hours she chooses
to work give her plenty to do.  Each Sunday she sings in the church choir,
and sometimes parishioners invite for dinner, but usually when she's not
working, she stays at home.  Her family and friends are scattered around
the country, and the sisters in her order who die of old age far outnumber
the handful of novices who join each year, so she lives alone.  Despite
this, she isn't lonely.  Jesus walks with her each day, and Jesus comforts
her at night.  "If you are near, Lord, what can I want or fear?" is her
constant prayer.

   Many women would hesitate to give up the option of a family or career,
these days, and many of Clara's novice sisters have left because they
changed their minds, but she never had a doubt.  Jesus was her first and
only love.  She dated in high school, but no boy could compare to his
gentleness and strength.  When she graduated, she gave herself over
completely to him.  Her career was his work, and the only family she
desired was his.  "Whoever does the will of my heavenly Father is my
brother, and sister, and mother." Clara, in taking her vows, became his
bride.

   The evening is set aside for prayer.  She goes to bed early so she can
meditate, bible and rosary in hand.  Tonight she reads from Isaiah: "As a
bridegroom rejoices over his bride, so will your God rejoice over you."
Before drifting off to sleep, she prays a decade from the rosary, and then
opens the bible to her favorite passage, from the Song of Songs.

   How beautiful you are, how pleasing, my love, my delight!

   Your very figure is like a palm tree,

   your breasts are like clusters.

   I said: I will climb the palm tree,

   I will take hold of its branches.

   Now let your breasts be like clusters of the vine

   and the fragrance of your breath like apples,

   And your mouth like an excellent wine

   that flows smoothly for my lover,

   spreading over the lips and the teeth.

   I belong to my lover,

   and for me he yearns.

   As Clara reads, her hand creeps under her nightgown, fingers slowly
rubbing her most intimate parts.  Warmth spreads through her body, down to
her toes, like the tingling of overwhelming joy.  As her climax nears, she
whispers, "I give myself to you, Lord, my love.  I am yours."