Thursday we had the full-time missionaries over for dinner. I almost hated to introduce them to my beautiful and charming 17-year-old daughter; I felt that it wasn’t nice. It was like waving a donut before someone that is fasting. One of them told us that he was raised in Boston, but that he was born in Provo while his parents were at BYU. It was sobering to realize that we were at BYU then too.
No comments:
Post a Comment