Krátký příběh o velké víře

Na začátku svatého týdne si dovolím publikovat ještě jeden krátký příspěvek, který mě upřímně rozesmál. Jedná se o vyprávění prababičky z první kapitoly knihy "Elephant keeper´s children" od Petera Hoega. Příběh je sice smyšlený, ale i tak se ptám sama sebe, jestli bych měla takovou víru a hlavně důvěru.

"My mother and father," Great-Grandma says, "your great-great-grandparents, weren´t exactly young, when they married, they were in their late thirties. And yet they had seven children. Just after the seventh was born, my mother´s brother and his wife, my uncle and aunt, died, smitten with the same influenza, the Spanish Flu. They died almost together, leaving behind them twelve children. My father went to the Nordhavn. After the ceremony there was to be a council at which the family were going to divide the twelve children between them. That´s the way that was done back then; it was ninety years ago and it was all abot survival. It took two hours by horse-drawn carriage to get from Fino Town to Nordhavn, and my father didn´t arrive back until evening. He came into the kitchen, where my mother was standing at the stove, and said: "I took them all."
My mother looked up at him, full of joy, and then she said, "Thank you for your confidence, Andres."