When my brother and I were still in single digits, we spent a weekend at our aunt and uncle's farm. During that 48 hour period, I was exposed to two future guiding forces in my life.

Saturday morning, we joined dozens of others to pick the season's cotton crop. It was our first real job. After breakfast, everyone grabbed burlap bags and headed for the fields.

A penny a pound doesn't sound like much money, but after dragging a wet bag through the dirt for a couple of hours, I thought I was rich. I estimated my bag weighed at least a hundred pounds, maybe more. That was big money in the 50s.

At lunch, Rick and I weighed our bags. My morning's effort tipped the scales at eighteen pounds, Rick's at about fourteen. Aunt Dana noticed our shock, rounded our earnings up to a quarter each, and excused us from the afternoon shift.

It is a valuable lesson I still carry with me. Picking cotton is hard, much harder than anything else I've ever done. That experience makes every other task seem easy by comparison.

That weekend was also the first time I was around my dad's older sister for any length of time. She became the most remarkable person in my life.

In today's world, where religion is used for everything from validating political beliefs to increasing sales, Dana Cox Wallace was a quiet example of what a true believer should be. She taught her children, and anyone else who came in contact with her what an immaculate life can be, mostly by her actions.

I never heard an angry word come from her. She respected everyone she met and found a positive side to even the most troubling occurrence.

Aunt Dana was spiritually the strongest person I've ever known. And she made the best chocolate pie ever baked. She remains the closest thing to an angel the planet has ever seen.

Her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren surprised her a few years ago for her 80th birthday. The event was a celebration of the person who influenced so many. It was also an opportunity to see her handiwork.

The people there, her family, provided a breathing example of how living under her influence changed people for the better. I was amazed at the reverence and love in the building that night. It remains one of the most moving events I've experienced.

About a year ago, I went to see her and for the first time noticed the fire missing from her eyes. Until then, she had always seemed excited about being alive. I knew she was beginning to fade.

On the first day in June this year, she moved on to Heaven, which is an infinitely better place with her there. The hole she left on Earth can never be filled, but her influence will continue for a long, long time.

The only thing missing was a golden chariot to transport her home. If anyone ever deserved one, it was Aunt Dana.