Ester Ried

“If something would only happen―if I could have one day, just one day, different from the others!” Thus mourned Ester Ried, for it seemed to her that her days consisted of nothing but monotony. Every day she made beds, baked endless pies in a hot kitchen, ironed, and raced against the clock to get tea on the table for the boarders. Every evening she fell into bed, too weary even for prayers, much less any Bible reading. As she nursed her suffering soul, she snapped at her sisters and brother unt...