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St. Peter laughed, nodded, and with a soft flash of light—poof—she was gone, likely stepping onto a massive stage somewhere, microphone in hand.
The second nun didn’t hesitate. She had always admired confidence and creativity, even if she never expressed it herself.
Another nod. Another poof. Another soul sent earthward with bold intentions.
Then St. Peter turned to the third nun.
She stood serenely, a gentle smile on her face, as though her decision had been made long ago.
“And you, sister?” he asked. “Who would you like to be?”
“I want-a to be Alberto Pipalini,” she replied calmly.
St. Peter paused. He flipped through records, frowned slightly, and looked back up.
“I’m afraid that name doesn’t ring a bell,” he said. “Is he famous?”
Without a word, the nun reached into her robe and handed him a folded newspaper clipping. The headline read:
The article explained that Alberto wasn’t wealthy or well-known. He ran a small business, greeted neighbors by name, laughed easily, and enjoyed simple pleasures. When asked about his happiness, he always said the same thing: he was grateful for what he had and didn’t chase what he didn’t need.
St. Peter burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the gates.
“You know,” he said, wiping his eyes, “after everything I’ve seen here, that might be the smartest choice of all.”
With a wave of his hand—poof—the third nun vanished.
As the gates closed, St. Peter made a quiet note to himself: true happiness isn’t found in applause or fame. Sometimes, it’s built from gratitude, balance, and joy in ordinary days.
Somewhere on Earth, three women were discovering happiness in very different ways—one on a world stage, one boldly reinventing herself, and one simply smiling through life.
And maybe, just maybe, the happiest choice wasn’t the loudest one.
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