Sr. Dorothy Anne was tiny.
Delicate, really—like a feather with a purpose.
And yet, she shuffled across the hospital campus like a woman on a mission.
Because she was.
She made her rounds—checking in on staff, blessing patients,
asking about people’s kids and grandkids and surgeries and dogs—
all well into her late 80s.
She remembered everything.
She knew everyone.
She was like clockwork.
One stormy day, when the wind was howling and the rain came sideways,
someone asked if she’d be staying in that day.
She laughed and said,
“Oh, it’s no problem. I’ll just throw some rocks in my pockets and head over.”
That was her.
Rooted. Lighthearted.
Steady in a world that spins too fast.
She wasn’t flashy. She was faithful.
She moved with purpose, even when no one was watching.
And I think about that a lot.
What it means to keep showing up.
Not because someone’s keeping score—
but because you know why you’re here.
Because your love has found a rhythm.
Because your calling doesn’t check the weather.
