AT ONE POINT DURING THE WINTER of 1940, my husband, a house painter, was temporarily unemployed because of the weather, and the textile plant where I worked was closed due to a seasonal layoff. We literally had no money. To make matters worse, our 18-month-old daughter, Rachel, was recovering poorly from pneumonia, and the doctor insisted we feed her a boiled egg each day. Even that was beyond our means.
“Why not pray for an egg?” suggested our babysitter, who was staying on without pay to help us. We were a churchgoing family, but this teenager’s depth of faith was something new to us at the time. All the same, she and I got on our knees and told the Lord that Rachel needed an egg each morning. We left…