She had high ideals for her future husband. With a booklet full of verbose depictions of him beneath her pillow, she would spend endless hours pondering what her future husband might be like. Would he have blue or brown eyes? What would they name the children they would one day have? Where would they live?
Out of breath, overwhelmed, in the middle of a big city, I glanced for the hundredth time at the route on my phone. Which bus was I supposed to take? What time does it get here? Am I on the right side of the street? Why in the world did I decide to do this? Last year our family took a trip to San Francisco.
A few months ago a repairman was working on a project at our house while our six children sat eating lunch around the kitchen table. “Oh, do you run a daycare?” he asked as he observed them. Chuckling, I told him that all the kids were ours. He seemed shocked by my words. “Seriously?” I smiled and nodded, telling him that we had adopted four of
“In 1813 a tall, slender Quaker woman named Elizabeth Fry went to the governor of Newgate Prison in London and asked, ‘Sir, if thee kindly allows me to pray with the women, I will go inside.’ Permission was granted and when the prison doors closed behind her, she felt she had entered a den of wild beasts. Three hundred women with their numerous children were crowded i
In 1890, Catherine Booth wrote, “It will be a happy day for England when Christian ladies transfer their attentions from poodles and terriers to destitute and starving children*. She reminded women that living for pleasure and filling their days with eating, drinking, dressing, and sightseeing left no time to serve God and become His hands and feet to the poor and outcast.