When I was getting ready to start this year-long virtue series months ago, I asked friends and acquaintances to nominate others (whether famous or not) as suggestions for these brief profiles. Of the responses I received, one made immediate and complete sense. When I think of virtuous women I have known, she stands tall among them in my memory.

But most of what I recall of her is based on memories from before the second grade. Could I recall enough to write fully about her? And could I recall her accurately enough to offer a fair picture to my readers?

To confirm my own impressions (or add to them or correct as needed), I reached out to the source of the nomination, a most beautiful and beloved woman I affectionately call Tutu (the Hawaiian term for grandmother). About a month ago, Tutu finally wrote to share her further thoughts with me, and the timing could not have been more perfect. For I was just starting this month’s new theme. And Tutu’s very insightful notes helped me not only see how accurate my young memory had been, but also some other aspects of the nominated lady I was too young to understand and then later recall fully.

Please allow me today, then, to introduce you to an angel in skin named Ethel Harris. In that tightknit farming community, she was rightfully respected by all and affectionately called “Aunt Ethel” by a number of folks, whether they were related to her or not.

She was the first Sunday School teacher I ever had, during my toddler-preschool years, a time when I needed a very special love she gave as naturally as the air she breathed. She was something like a female Fred Rogers, and she treated each of us tiny souls with all the respect, attention, and grace she felt should be afforded to any human being. But as children are so often overlooked, dismissed, or misunderstood by adults, Ethel took it upon herself to give us extra attention and care. And it wasn’t buttery or pretentious. She spoke with us in a way we could understand, but still with sincerity, respect, and great intelligence. She felt called at every turn to model the teaching of Jesus that the littlest children should know His love and never be harmed or led astray from knowing His heart. When I was with her, every single moment as a child and also when I visited her again years later, before her passing, I felt loved about as unconditionally as I have ever felt loved by another person.

These are the things I reflected on in my own experience. But then I received Tutu’s letter.

While Tutu did confirm those things I remembered, she expounded further on Aunt Ethel’s deep and genuine humility, her fervent prayer practices for others, and her tireless generosity. And while she especially loved and prayed for the children, she had a heart of love for everyone. In Tutu’s notes, for example, I learned for the first time that Ethel also spent countless hours writing letters to prisoners to let them know they too were loved and never forgotten.

What strikes me most as I review the life of this one dear woman today? I think it is that sincerity is simply and truly seen when an authentic and loving person will choose to turn face-first to the world and shine a light from their deepest heart on others. A light that only God can put there. And a light that shines purest in the absence of fear.

I know Aunt Ethel prayed for me. I am one of so many in her still-living legacy. I could not be more sincerely honored to think about this. And I so sincerely want to live the rest of my life following her example.