True Stuff that I Made Up

PLEASE NOTE: The entries which are published at this site are solely my personal and sometimes whimsical musings. For information regarding my political positions and proposals, please visit www.LarryKump.us.

Further, this website is devoutly dedicated to all of my friends and associates, both early and late, who have mentored and influenced me. However, being who they are, the majority of them have been late most of the time.

  Also, check out my personal entry at Mormon.org.

Friday, October 19, 2007

From a Friend & Worth Sharing

... Things used to be important to me. But that's because I grew up in such tremendous poverty. We were rich in spirit but often had no idea where our next meal was coming from. Prostitutes lived on the main floor, and my Mom and I lived upstairs in a one-room apartment. We shared a bathroom with an old man who lived in a room across the hall. Wow... we didn't even have a phone! At times, this was perilous, but we had guardian angels who protected us and we remained safe. God somehow always took care of us and we would manage to survive with integrity. We moved frequently. $15-$25 per month apartments were very much too much for my Mom to handle. (She was a laundry worker and the language barrier was great for her.) I was blessed to help my Mom get a Temple Recommend. She never thought she was worthy because I was illegitimate. The bishop told her... she was worthy to enter the temple. Can you believe that such poverty would have existed right in
the heart of Salt Lake City?...

2 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

I thought at first that you were telling my story, but not all of the ending fits me and my Mom in Jersey City.

11:38 AM  
Anonymous Julie Russell said...

This reminded me of when I was a poor, starving Mother.
I even sold my car to pay off my debts.
I also sold my plasma (blood) for money.
Money was tight.
Finally, I got an old, beat up car to help me get back and forth to Nursing school.
The car had a bad muffler, so you always heard us coming.
It also had a stripe made with a spray paint can, which we referred to as a "ghetto stripe".
It was a "beauty".
My daughter probably was three or four when we were in the car and stopped at a traffic light, next to another car.
My daughter quietly watched the sad looking family in the next car,and then said to me, "Those people are poor, Huh, Mommy?".
I have thought and thought about that over the years.
My daughter and I were happy.
We had singing, smiles, and each other.
Since then, she told me many times that she never knew we were poor.

11:12 AM  

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