From: Donna Banta
Subject: One final plug for "The Girls"
Bishop Loomis of the Abbottsville Fourth Ward relaxed behind the expansive mahogany desk in his church office. His volume of scripture was precisely aligned in the desk’s top left corner, telephone top center, pen and pencil cup top right. His appointment calendar lay square in the center of his fine leather desk pad, opened to today’s date.In fact, his calm was so complete that when his office door opened, and he looked up to greet the familiar face, he did not even notice the gun that fired a bullet square into the center of the neatly pressed, starched white pocket that covered up his heart.In spite of his many obligations, the bishop felt at peace. Never in his life had he been so confident of his own opinion, secure in his relationships, and proud of his work in the Kingdom of God.
"My friends at school like to brag that their moms went to fancy colleges to become doctors and lawyers and stuff. Then I tell them that my mom went to Relief Society to learn how to make living room furniture out of PVC pipe, hot glue and styrofoam. That pretty much shuts them up."
"The other day when I was changing little Jimmy's poopy diaper, he looked up at me and said 'Ga-boo-be-bah' -- just like they were his own little words -- and, oh my heck -- I told myself I wouldn't cry -- but babies are just so special!"
"Dear Sisters, you care for our children, clean our houses, cook all of our favorite meals, tend our gardens, do our laundry, buy our groceries, iron our shirts, darn our socks, are always available in bed, don't expect a dime, wait on us every waking moment, let us do all of the talking, hang on our every word, and never complain. After all of that, how can we possibly NOT respect you? Anyway, why do you care?"
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