Last week was that time of year again.
Charming was out of town for a school residence week and I wandered aimlessly through the house, searching for the other half of myself.
The boys missed him. I missed him.
So I sought comfort in a French Silk Pie dear Charming bought me before he left.
And a foofy romantic library book I saw advertised in Deseret Book’s catalog (quite a delightful story, though I would have been embarrassed to read a few parts of it outloud to my mother).
And last, but not least, the only versions I hadn’t seen of Persuasion, Mansfield Park, Emma, and Sense & Sensibility (while I traced, cut and glued the entire alphabet).
And then halfway through my week alone with two young boys, I thought of Mormon pioneer mothers. Mothers whose husbands were gone for years as they taught the gospel in foreign lands. Mothers who were alone as they faced persecution and moved their families across the plains in covered wagons and hand carts.
All of a sudden, my week alone didn’t seem so hard. My previous complaints felt petty and insignificant. And my respect for pioneer mothers as well as my gratitude for a loving Heavenly Father who succors His children through their trials profoundly deepened.
After that, I tried to be more patient and long-suffering when I felt my patience running thin. And I thanked Heavenly Father for answering our prayers when I could finally say…..
It was a wonderful reunion.