“Cream Puffs and Patience,” Ensign, Sept. 1982, 59
My mother really knows how to reach those who need help. She knows how to show others she cares. One sister in the ward describes her by saying, “Everyone thinks she is their best friend.”
I didn’t realize what her friendship and compassion had meant to others until I needed help myself. I had given up hope dealing with my rebellious teenager. Prayer had given me some comfort, but I still felt I had failed. I was lonely and discouraged.
Returning from one more incident with my child, I paced the kitchen, growling angrily. Then I saw a plate loaded with cream puffs as only my mother makes them. Those golden brown morsels held more than delectable, smooth filling: each one was filled with my mother’s love—each one said she cared. I cried as I sat down with the plate, and as I slowly ate I marveled at my mother’s insight. Reaching for a second cream puff, I stopped, deciding to save them—and my new-found patience—for my teenager. Ann H. Banks, Spanish Fork, Utah