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If there is anything that tears at the tenderness of a woman's heart, it is seeing a little child neglected, unwanted, in a cold, dirty, upheavaled house that she is supposed to call home.
I will long remember that snow packed winter, that I, a Relief Society president, drove to this little six year old's house every school morning to get her off to school.
Her mother, divorced, having a strong dependency on alcohol, was trying, along with this handicap, to keep her janitorial jobs at various business establishments, leaving for work at 6 a.m. each morning. Nancy was left to fare for herself and get off to school on her own.
The bishop exposed me to this heart rendering situation but I didn't know how heart rendering until I got into it. How my throat tightened to arrive and find her attempting to fasten a big safety pin through folds and folds of a ripped out seam at the waistline. Her faded dress covered her skinny little body, sagging ridiculously around her legs. How often the two of us together hunted under the bed, across the floor, through the drawers for two socks that would match. Often we were unsuccessful. So oversized were her few well worn clothes that I felt a pang of delight to see her cover up with a warm winter coat.
The kitchen held stale odors, soured foods, even clabbered milk left long on the kitchen cabinet. I soon learned to take along with me fresh milk for her corn flakes.
I remember asking her where she would be going for Thanksgiving dinner. She said her mother had to work but her Aunt Lucy would take her to her house. Good news. I didn't know her Aunt Lucy but I prayed that she would be kind and let Nancy feel the warmth of a Thanksgiving day that all the little children should be entitled to.
As I was stuffing my turkey that Thanksgiving morning and as my married children were arriving and filling my house with joy, my phone rang. It was Nancy. She asked if I could come and get her? She was alone. Her Aunt Lucy couldn't take her after all. And she wasn't sure but she believed her mother must be working again somewhere.
I dropped everything. I sped out of my driveway. Thoughts were furiously rushing through my head. "How could a Thanksgiving morning be so cruel to a little girl. We must all quickly stamp out these hurts she must be feeling - perhaps calloused hurts."
As I entered the disorderly home I looked upon this pitiful little child, sticky hair matted to one side of her head because she had dropped off to sleep last night with a lolly pop in her mouth. As we proceeded to the car my first thought was which door of my house could I sneak her through to get to my bathroom and clean her up. I couldn't stand the surprised glances she would receive from my little granddaughters in their soft curls and ruffled dresses. We slid down the hall. I disguised her as much as possible. My hair dresser daughter took over in loving kindness while I went on with preparing the dinner.
When she appeared, I was almost overwhelmed. She wore a bright little plaid dress of my granddaughters. Her hair was softly flipped, her nails polished. She had been transformed into a little princess. She felt she was a little princess . . . a princess for a day!
I gathered the little helpers around me and outlined some tasks that needed to be done to complete the dinner preparations. Each child speaking out for her choice of work. I felt Nancy's voice come through with, "Please, may I put the napkins around?" Yes, she had blended into our family circle.
As we all sat around the table giving thanks, I noticed I was not the only one misty eyed. A silent prayer soared heavenward as I thanked God for the love that hovered over our table. Nancy had opened our eyes and expanded our hearts on this Thanksgiving Day!
November 1981
Orvetta's thoughts: A true experience. Names changed to protect the little girl and family. She really was a pretty little girl if you could look beyond her straggly, dirty little elbows and a dress that draped so unevenly around her skinny legs.
I will long remember that snow packed winter, that I, a Relief Society president, drove to this little six year old's house every school morning to get her off to school.
Her mother, divorced, having a strong dependency on alcohol, was trying, along with this handicap, to keep her janitorial jobs at various business establishments, leaving for work at 6 a.m. each morning. Nancy was left to fare for herself and get off to school on her own.
The bishop exposed me to this heart rendering situation but I didn't know how heart rendering until I got into it. How my throat tightened to arrive and find her attempting to fasten a big safety pin through folds and folds of a ripped out seam at the waistline. Her faded dress covered her skinny little body, sagging ridiculously around her legs. How often the two of us together hunted under the bed, across the floor, through the drawers for two socks that would match. Often we were unsuccessful. So oversized were her few well worn clothes that I felt a pang of delight to see her cover up with a warm winter coat.
The kitchen held stale odors, soured foods, even clabbered milk left long on the kitchen cabinet. I soon learned to take along with me fresh milk for her corn flakes.
I remember asking her where she would be going for Thanksgiving dinner. She said her mother had to work but her Aunt Lucy would take her to her house. Good news. I didn't know her Aunt Lucy but I prayed that she would be kind and let Nancy feel the warmth of a Thanksgiving day that all the little children should be entitled to.
As I was stuffing my turkey that Thanksgiving morning and as my married children were arriving and filling my house with joy, my phone rang. It was Nancy. She asked if I could come and get her? She was alone. Her Aunt Lucy couldn't take her after all. And she wasn't sure but she believed her mother must be working again somewhere.
I dropped everything. I sped out of my driveway. Thoughts were furiously rushing through my head. "How could a Thanksgiving morning be so cruel to a little girl. We must all quickly stamp out these hurts she must be feeling - perhaps calloused hurts."
As I entered the disorderly home I looked upon this pitiful little child, sticky hair matted to one side of her head because she had dropped off to sleep last night with a lolly pop in her mouth. As we proceeded to the car my first thought was which door of my house could I sneak her through to get to my bathroom and clean her up. I couldn't stand the surprised glances she would receive from my little granddaughters in their soft curls and ruffled dresses. We slid down the hall. I disguised her as much as possible. My hair dresser daughter took over in loving kindness while I went on with preparing the dinner.
When she appeared, I was almost overwhelmed. She wore a bright little plaid dress of my granddaughters. Her hair was softly flipped, her nails polished. She had been transformed into a little princess. She felt she was a little princess . . . a princess for a day!
I gathered the little helpers around me and outlined some tasks that needed to be done to complete the dinner preparations. Each child speaking out for her choice of work. I felt Nancy's voice come through with, "Please, may I put the napkins around?" Yes, she had blended into our family circle.
As we all sat around the table giving thanks, I noticed I was not the only one misty eyed. A silent prayer soared heavenward as I thanked God for the love that hovered over our table. Nancy had opened our eyes and expanded our hearts on this Thanksgiving Day!
November 1981
Orvetta's thoughts: A true experience. Names changed to protect the little girl and family. She really was a pretty little girl if you could look beyond her straggly, dirty little elbows and a dress that draped so unevenly around her skinny legs.
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