On the 10th Day of Christmas Past, rekindling history to enhance today’s Light the World – “For I was hungered and ye gave me meat.”
Question: How were “those that were hungered” given meat in these two stories?
To be entered into today’s daily giveaway & FREE tour drawing- Read the story below; “Comment” & “Share” your answer on Facebook or our blog.
“December 1856 (with the Martin handcart Company in Wyoming)”
Recollections of the Past – Patience Loader Rozsa Archer
“It was supper time and we were hungry and without food, when a good brother came to our campfire. He asked if mother had no husband and she told him her husband had died two months ago and was buried on the Plains. The brother had been standing with his hands behind him. He then handed us a nice piece of beef to cook for supper. He left and came back with a beef bone and said, ‘Here is a bone to make some soup, and don’t quarrel over it.’ Mother said, ‘oh brother, we never quarrel over short rations, but we are very thankful to you for giving us this meat, as we do not have any and have not expected any.'” From: Pioneer Christmas p. 38
“The Long Line of the Lonely”
President Thomas S. Monson boyhood memories
“I have many memories of my boyhood. Anticipating Sunday dinner was one of them. Just as we children hovered at our so-called starvation level and sat anxiously at the table, with the aroma of roast beef filling the room, Mother would say to me, “Tommy, before we eat, take this plate I’ve prepared down the street to Old Bob and hurry back.” I could never understand why we couldn’t first eat and later deliver his plate of food. I never questioned aloud but would run down to Bob’s house and then wait anxiously as his aged feet brought him eventually to the door. Then I would hand him the plate of food. He would present to me the clean plate from the previous Sunday and offer me a dime as pay for my services. My answer was always the same: “I can’t accept the money. My mother would tan my hide.” He would then run his wrinkled hand through my blond hair and say, “My boy, you have a wonderful mother. Tell her thank you.” You know, I think I never did tell her. I sort of felt Mother didn’t need to be told. She seemed to sense his gratitude. I remember, too, that Sunday dinner always seemed to taste a bit better after I had returned from my errand.
Old Bob came into our lives in an interesting way. He was a widower in his eighties when the house in which he was living was scheduled to be demolished. I heard him tell my grandfather his plight as the three of us sat on the old front-porch swing. With a plaintive voice, he said to Grandfather, “Mr. Condie, I don’t know what to do. I have no family. I have no place to go. I have no money.”
I wondered how Grandfather would answer. Slowly he reached into his pocket and took from it that old leather purse from which, in response to my hounding, he had produced many a penny or nickel for a special treat. This time he removed a key and handed it to Old Bob. Tenderly he said, “Bob, here is the key to that house I own next door. Take it. Move in your things. Stay as long as you like. There will be no rent to pay, and nobody will ever put you out again.”
Tears welled up in the eyes of Old Bob, coursed down his cheeks, then disappeared in his long, white beard. Grandfather’s eyes were also moist. I spoke no word, but that day my grandfather stood ten feet tall. I was proud to bear his given name. Though I was but a boy, that lesson has influenced my life.
Each of us has his own way of remembering. At Christmastime I take delight in visiting the widows and widowers from the ward where I served as bishop. There were eighty-seven then, just eight today. On such visits, I never know what to expect, but this I do know: visits like these provide for me the Christmas spirit, which is, in reality, the Spirit of Christ.”
Pioneer Christmas p. 38
Found on 12/20/17 at https://www.lds.org/ensign/1992/02/the-long-line-of-the-lonely?lang=eng