Quarts of Love

That fall had been an especially difficult time for me. I don’t remember why I was so down and out, but I do remember how hollow and sad and desperate I felt. I didn’t see any answers in sight. I didn’t know if I could keep going.

In the midst of this depression, I received a phone call from Leona Torney, a widow in her late seventies and one of the best gardeners in our ward. Sister Torney had blessed many people with the literal fruits of her labors.

She had called to tell me that Sister Donna Fifield’s golden delicious apples were all on the ground. Sister Fifield, another elderly widow in our ward, wasn’t interested in picking up her windfall.

“I just can’t bear to see those beautiful apples on the ground, Kathy,” Sister Torney said. “I thought you might like to go over there and get them so you could make applesauce for your boys.”

I thanked Sister Torney sincerely and said I’d try to get over there in the next few days. I knew that I probably wouldn’t get to those apples because I was barely making it through each day. But I didn’t want to tell Sister Torney that.

Four or five days slipped by, and I never went to pick up the apples. On Saturday afternoon, I spoke with a friend in the ward who mentioned that Sister Torney had brought her a big bushel of delicious apples. Linda was thrilled with the gift. I was relieved that I didn’t have to worry about the apples, and I resolved to tell Sister Torney how pleased Linda was so she would know her thoughtfulness had been well received.

The next day at church, I pulled Sister Torney aside and apologized that I had never made it over to pick up the apples. “But I wanted you to know how pleased Linda was. I talked to her yesterday, and she said she was so grateful for the apples you brought to her!”

That night, my spirits began crumbling under the pressure of carrying too much for too long. I had been weary through the whole fall, and now it was the first week of November. I remember crying to the Lord that I could not see any light at the end of the tunnel.

My help came Tuesday morning. Sister Torney called around ten o’clock. “Kathy,” she began, “I’ve been thinking about you ever since Sunday. I just wanted to do something for you. I’ve made you twelve quarts of applesauce, and I wondered if you could come and pick them up.”

Tears started rolling down my cheeks. Twelve quarts of applesauce! I couldn’t imagine anyone making twelve quarts of applesauce and then giving them all away! I thought of Sister Torney picking up all those apples, carting them home, putting them through the grinder, cooking the sauce, bottling it. To imagine that she had done all of that—a full day’s work—for me! I couldn’t stop the tears.

I went right over. She had loaded the quart jars into two big kettles.

“Kathy, I just kept thinking of you,” she repeated, as she filled my arms with applesauce and love.

I don’t know if Sister Torney will ever know how much her gift meant to me. I was overwhelmed by her love; it broke my depression. I knew that she had been thinking of me because the Lord had heard my prayers. I knew the applesauce—and her concern—were gifts from Him, given from someone who listened.

My three little boys and I sat right down and had a big bowlful each. Joseph liked it so much that he ate a whole quart at one sitting. I called to tell Sister Torney how much we had all enjoyed it—especially Joseph. She was amazed and amused to hear that he had eaten a whole quart.

Two days later, when I returned the kettles to her, Sister Torney was ready. She had made twelve more quarts of applesauce. “For Joseph,” she said.

But it was really me who benefited from her thoughtful gift. I returned home not only with applesauce but also with a testimony that my prayers had been heard and that I was not alone.