Polly Jordan died this month. When another friend wrote of Polly’s goodness, I was prompted to write down my own favorite memory of my gracious friend. I’m reposting it here because if I ever do good, Polly surely deserves some of the credit.
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I hope folks won’t mind my favorite Polly story, though I guess this one was a Polly and Joe Jordan story.

I was troubled as a teen along the lines of depression and hopelessness. Polly asked me if I would be willing to come over to their home and help out. This wasn’t very frequently, but their home was a haven for me. Polly would share stories about her life as the wife of an Army man (he was a four star general when he was our bishop). They met and married in their small Idaho town. Polly never expected and was always amazed by the world-wide life they ended up living. Polly would tell me stories about their career while we dusted books and hemmed homemade draperies and such, domestic things I’d never seen done.

One Sunday Polly asked me to come over for dinner, there was someone they wanted to introduce me to. I was sixteen or older, and had never been on a date, as Polly knew. So I looked forward to meeting this unknown young man.

I wore my nicest dress and started helping fix the food, an Indian meal with curry and potatoes and other dishes new to me. Around six the doorbell rang and an friend of theirs from Idaho arrived. He was newly selected to be an ambassador to some European country (the Netherlands, I think). Dinner wasn’t quite finished so I waited, expecting another visitor any moment.

It wasn’t until the four of us sat down to dinner that I realized the ambassador was the person Polly and Joe wanted me to meet.

I looked at myself and saw a failure, a nobody. Polly and Joe looked at me and saw a precious daughter of God with a world of possibility in front of me. I will forever be grateful to them.

Tags: Writing