Temple kitchens are always off to the side, unnoticed unless you are part of the kitchen staff ­­— those devoted ladies who cook and clean for every ceremonial meal. Auntie Grannie is one of the selfless. Not surprisingly, she is also someone who will always stand by your side when others turn away.

And that’s exactly the way it was the night she found a child. Just outside the kitchen. Barely two years old. Apparently left alone. Frightened and crying, "I want my mommy."

Auntie Grannie and her best friend, an elderly Catholic lady with a decided gimp, had just finished cleaning the kitchen when they heard crying. The Catholic, a lady who long ago stopped attending church after church elders said she dressed like a beggar ("But I AM a beggar," she responded, unashamed), suggested they investigate. Turning an ear toward the sobbing, they stepped outside and nearly tripped over a tiny girl.

Auntie knelt down, wiped away the tears and picked her up, cradled her, rocked her, soothed her.

Similar to a temple kitchen, Auntie is not the tidiest of people. Hasn’t touched a stitch of new clothing in years. Who needs it? she says. Hairbrushes, shampoo, powders, makeup, fingernail polish — all the stuff found in uptown stores — are not in her vocabulary, much less her shanty shower.

The only friend not ashamed to be seen in public with Auntie is the gimpy Catholic Lady. One is always looking disheveled; the other dresses like the beggar she is. In that way, they make a good match. And maybe that's a glimpse into the character of real-life heroines—humble and genuine, neither lady pretends to be something they're not.

On that night when the heroines sprang into action, the crying girl's mum was hidden there. In the shadows, watching and praying for her daughter to be saved. Around Auntie's neck was a rosary, given to her by the Catholic Lady. It's her best and really only friend. She goes by the name Wilted Lotus. Auntie didn’t know how to say the prayers of the rosary, but Wilted Lotus told her not to worry about it. The prayers will say themselves — and Our Hail Mary will protect you and cherish you. So, Auntie always wore the rosary around her neck. She was wearing it that very night.

As Auntie cradled and soothed the girl, Wilted Lotus gently took the rosary from around Auntie's neck and kissed it. She asked Auntie to kiss it too. She proceeded to place the rosary around the neck of the girl. Then, outside the temple kitchen and in the dark of night, they sang/chanted an old Thai lullaby. Their singing was off key, of course, but it calmed the child. She dozed off in Auntie's arms.

At that very moment a dog barked at someone moving in the shadows. That's when they saw her. It was the girl's mum. Wilted Lotus was about to call for her, but Auntie raised a finger to her lips. She instinctively knew that any mother who would leave her baby daughter outside the temple and then stay to watch over her, was not a bad mother. She was a desperate mother.

Auntie whispered to Wilted Lotus, "Mum has done her best; she is begging us for help. Let her go her way." So together they held the girl and said in voices loud enough to carry into the shadows, "We promise to raise this beautiful child with love and dignity."

Louder still, Auntie asked, "I wonder what name Mum gave her lovely daughter." A weak and trembling voice responded from the shadows: "Bla. Her name is Bla—a little minnow."

The bushes rustled, the dog barked again, and just like that, Mum disappeared. That’s when Auntie saw the note pinned to the girl's blouse. In beautiful Thai script, it read: "My beloved and only daughter, I am so sorry. May we meet again in a better place and time. I love you so much."

With all of their sweet persuasion — not to mention warts, wrinkles, missing teeth, dirty toenails, and mismatched flip flops — Auntie and Wilted Lotus convinced our emergency van man to drive the girl directly to the hospital ER and then to the police station.

This all happened many years ago, nearly two decades. We later discovered that Miss Little Minnow's mum was 23 years old and had grown up an orphan. She had no family, no one to really care for her. One night, as she walked alone on a back street, a man-monster grabbed her. Fifteen violent, screaming minutes later, she was bloodied, beaten, raped and pregnant. Soon after, she tested positive for HIV and T.B. The man-monster simply ran away, never to be seen again.

And that's why Bla's mum had taken her to the temple that night and left her outside the kitchen, a place where selfless heroines work late into the night. It was her best chance to find beautiful and soulful people to care for her daughter. Leaving her child there was not really abandonment. It was an act of motherly love.

Following a week of checkups and a stay in the children's ward, we received a miraculous health report. Bla had not contracted HIV or T.B. She was a relatively healthy two-year-old. Better still, she had Auntie to watch over her. She treated Miss Little Minnow as her own.

Auntie's home is a rickety lean-to near the back wall of the temple kitchen. It's propped up on a tree older than the temple itself. And though Auntie might not brush her hair or clean up very well, she eats just fine. She made sure Bla did too. Working in the temple kitchen, they thrived on leftovers, good leftovers. Temple food needs to be delicious, lest the temple receives a poor reputation.

But one year after Auntie adopted Miss Little Minnow, and just after enrolling her in a daycare near the Temple, she fell sick. Her old nemesis had returned with a vengeance: T.B. Although for years Auntie had taken her daily meds, a fever caught her by surprise. Newly contagious and not fit for cooking or parenting, she left the kitchen and soon left Bla too.

She asked Bla if she was willing to stay with us at the Mercy Centre, long enough for Auntie to go away and heal. Tearfully, Bla agreed. Auntie promised and double promised that one day she would come back for Miss Little Minnow and together they would return to the temple kitchen.

At the Mercy Centre, we doubted that day would ever come. Auntie's old nemesis is a formidable foe. And, sure enough, Auntie disappeared for many years. There was no trace of her for more than a decade.

Meanwhile, Miss Little Minnow thrived at Mercy Centre, always finished near the top of her class. She even graduated from University, and soon after returning home she attended a funeral cremation at the temple. There, on the kitchen side of the temple, devotees paid their respects with coins left in a sacred bowl beside the casket. According to custom, the coins allow the deceased to have "spending money on the other side." As per ritual, the monks scattered the coins as the neighborhood children rushed about to collect— for good luck and, just as often, for ice cream.

Bla had just graduated from University and she was there showing off pictures of herself in her graduation robes. That's when Auntie reappeared. No one had seen her in more than 15 years. She looked much older and more ragged— if that were possible. She couldn’t hardly bend down to pick up coins at her feet. Seeing her, we told the children to stop. Please show respect to this heroine of ours. Give your coins to her. They never hesitated. They showed her the respect she deserved.

Bla looked up from her photos and burst immediately into tears. She ran to Auntie and hugged her and hugged her and then hugged her some more. "You came back!" she said, again and again. "You kept your promise!"

Bla finally released her grip on Auntie and stood back to stare lovingly at her. She reached for a necklace around her own neck. It was held together with two small safety pins. She lifted it gently from around her neck and placed it over Auntie's head. It was the old rosary that Auntie had given her when she was just two years old.

Miss Little Minnow told Auntie that she would keep a promise to her just as Auntie had kept her promise. "I promise to take care of you for as long as you live," she whispered, tears in her eyes.

Auntie placed the Rosary back around Miss Little Minnows neck, and looking around at the people and the ceremony, she said: "We always keep our promises, don't we little girl? So, let's get back to the kitchen. I think we're needed there."