St. Peter chuckled, nodded, and with a soft poof of light, she vanished. Somewhere on Earth, she was likely already holding a microphone, singing songs that made people feel seen, understood, and less alone.
The second nun didn’t hesitate. She had always admired creativity and courage, even if she never expressed it openly. Standing tall, she declared, “I want-a to be Madonna.”
Another approving nod from St. Peter, another gentle poof, and she was gone as well. Heaven had seen many requests over the centuries, and big dreams were nothing new.
Then St. Peter turned to the third nun.
She stood quietly, hands folded, wearing a peaceful smile that suggested she had been thinking carefully. There was no rush in her movements, no excitement spilling over. She seemed calm, grounded, and completely sure of herself.
“And you, sister?” St. Peter asked. “Who would you like to be?”
“I want-a to be Alberto Pipalini,” she said softly.
St. Peter blinked.
He flipped through his records, checked a few glowing pages, and even consulted what looked suspiciously like a heavenly database. He frowned slightly and looked back up at her.
“I’m sorry, sister,” he said gently, “but I don’t recognize that name. Is he a singer? An artist? A famous leader?”
