Our Bennett, Colorado, charge proved to be a surpassing experience. We lived in a tiny parsonage, worshiped in a tiny church, and served a tiny, rural congregation. It was here we met the sickly but saintly Mrs. Rolf, a symbol of all the really good and sacrificial saints we have known through the years,

She was one of four devout parishioners who met with us for prayer each Thursday afternoon at the church, next door to the parsonage. She rarely missed. She came when she was well enough to stand, and soon we learned her story. She lived with her twelve-year-old son who was spending most of his summer herding sheep to buy school clothes for the coming fall. Mrs. Rolfs husband had left her several years earlier for reasons that never seemed clear. She was destitute and received meager relief from the community. If she had been the only member of the congregation, her strong Christian spirit was enough to make those few weeks in our first parish worthwhile.

Before we knew it the summer was ...