Ever since the early years of my married life I had the secret desire to write a book. But then I would remind myself that everyday happenings, both of sorrow and of joy, are a part of everyone’s life, which is true, but each one’s is vastly different enough to interest other individuals.

In a way this view was strictly in accord with the facts. Externally, ours was a life without too much exciting adventure. Few people since Wordsworth's famous heroine had truly walked more untrodden ways. We had our family, our home, our children, our church, our books, and our music; but the larger world around us hardly interested us - certainly did not know us.

Yet, for all of that, I have a story to tell to me a beautiful and thrilling one. We made our life something exquisitely fine. We fashioned the lives of those who depended upon us with the best of our ability. We lived a story, perhaps important because it was uneventful; certainly it was beautiful, because God entrusted into our care so many little lives.

The story will be told because, first of all, I love it. Then I hope it may have some interest for the persons who read it and will draw a little inspiration from it.

If you have never met my family, I shall find it a joy to introduce you to them through these pages. You will like them, I think. They may even be a little like your own family. And you will approve of them for this.
Yet, whether anyone reads the manuscript or not (and who dares predict that it will ever become a book?) I shall try to write as a teller of truth and as one interested in a maturing and developing of minds and hearts.

I shall continue to love as a loving wife, mother, daughter, sister, and friend.