Many years ago, when we were a young couple with two small children, aged 2 and 4, we were practically impecunious. My in-laws lived from hand to mouth, so we didn't expect any help from them. My parents lived a great distance away, and I was too ashamed to let them know about our situation.
My husband was trying to earn a living with an old pick-up truck, carrying groceries for local shopkeepers, but it was constantly breaking down. It took almost all the money we had to have it fixed. The truck was also the only means of transportation for us.
We lived in the countryside, and we always used the back door because the driveway led to it. One winter evening, I stepped outside to take a bag of trash to the barrel and almost tripped over something. It was nearly dark and I had to bend down to see what it was. I could hardly believe my eyes. There sat a large basket loaded with food.
It was heavy, so I called my husband to carry it into the house. Once inside we discovered two loaves of bread, some butter, several cans of vegetables, a can of orange sauce, and a large turkey. There was so many things that I can't remember them all, but they were what we needed to fix a wonderful dinner-everything except potatoes.
A little while later I remembered that I hadn't taken the trash to the barrel. Then it was dark, so I had to turn on the yard light— and that's when I spotted a small bag of potatoes sitting on the porch.
That dinner was the best I could remember. We weren't able to thank our donators, though, because we never found out who had been so considerate to help a struggling young family. Whoever it was, we are forever grateful.
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