Sisters ~ Lost Post #1

These two girls are 

black and white

sweet and salty

cool turquoise and warm lavender

They fought over what color they would paint their room for weeks.  

Finally, I took the decision away

"Grey.  End of story."

Maybe I can help them find the neutral ground in their relationship.

*****

 Whenever they fight, 

I tell my girls they need to understand something...

(here is my lecture, in case you need to use it sometime):

"Your sister is the best friend you will ever have.  You will have a million friends in your life, but most will disappear in 5 years.  If you are lucky, you will still have one or two of those friends when you are an adult*see note. But your sister is the friend that God hand picked for you.  She will be at your wedding, and your births, and she will be there for every important event in your life, for the REST of your life.  You need to cherish your relationship with her.  Protect it and take care of it.  

(blah blah blah, ten more minutes of similar content)"

I worry, though.  I really believe what I am saying.  And I know that some sibling relationships develop deep wounds in childhood and teen years that leave scars.  Big ones.  But then there are some siblings that have sweet and amazing relationships, and I can only assume those seeds sprouted in childhood, as well.

I want that for my kids (the seed thing, not the scar thing).

The grey space where they both can Be.

Together, but unique

Supportive, with boundaries

Helpful, but not codependent

Individuals, but never alone.

 

*Remember in the lecture when I said that bit about only having one or two lifetime friends?

That might have been a fib, but only because I have been soooo blessed in my life with many dear and amazing life-long friendships.  True soul sisters.  But I don't think that is how it is for most people, and I never take that blessing for granted.

*****

This post, and perhaps a dozen others, were begun and never finished since I have been sick and overwhelmingly busy in the past year.  I was going to let them go, but then I realized that since this blog is really for my family, it doesn't matter when I post them, only that I do.  So this is the first of many Lost Posts that I will publish.   

Here Comes the Bride

When I met Melissa, little Jessica was just a toddler.  She was the smartest little child I had ever met.  She was a chubby-cheeked, whispy haired, toe-head with deep brown eyes and an ever deeper voice, who started learning to talk at just nine months old.  Serious and funny, she was always wiser than her years. 

Melissa was at two of my kids births in person (and two by phone... yes, she listened as I bellowed my babies out).  And I was at two of hers. We cooked, cleaned, walked, and nursed babies together. We spent some part of every day together for years. When I look back at many of my favorite memories, Melissa is quietly there, bringing joy. 

Sixteen years ago, after years of being neighbors with Melissa’s family in the same apartment complex, we moved.  Not just our family, but Melissa's too.  We moved away the same week, planned that way so that we didn't have to be “the ones left behind”. 

Over the years we have kept in touch.  It took us a while to negotiate our relationship via phone.  Up until that time, our phone calls went like this:

"Hey."
"Hey."
"Can you com'mere?"
"Be right there."

But we figured it out.  Now, 16 years later, we don't get to talk as often as we'd like, but when it came to Jessie getting married, it was simple.  Guy said it best...

"It's Melissa. You have to go."

I got to Salt Lake on a Thursday afternoon.  What a joy to see my sweet Melissa, and Jess surprised me by joining her at the airport.  We got our nails done (a first for me, and probably last if all manicurists are that masochistic!), and the next day we made food!  Lots of food!!!

A few hundred little caprese skewers, bazillion sandwich pinwheels, a million fruit cubes and cake squares later, and we were somewhat ready for the nuptials. 

The next morning I got the privilege of escorting the lovely bride-to-be to the temple with her proud mama.



Melissa looked so lovely. Again, Guy said it best... “She never ages!”



Jessie’s only sign of nerves hit in the car, but were short lived. My favorite mental picture from the day was seeing her and her sweetie walking hand in hand up to the temple. 



The ceremony was lovely, of course, but I missed sitting in the Temple with my own sweetie.  Temple weddings are a very simple affair.  There are only a couple of dozen family and close friends in the small sealing room, so it feels very tender and intimate.  I love seeing the bride and groom walk in holding hands.  The sealer who performs the marriage usually gives a short bit of council to the young couple, and it always brings home the beauty and purpose of marriage.  After the exchange of promises while kneeling across the altar from each other, the couple then shares a sweet kiss over the altar, and are pronounced husband and wife for time and all eternity. 

The ceremony only lasts about 20 minutes, but it is sweet and reverent.  At the end, well wishers pass by the new husband and wife in turn,  whispering their quiet congratulations.  I had managed to hold back my tears until that moment, but couldn't help it once I looked into that sweet girl's gorgeous brown eyes.  The years folded in on themselves, and I could see how short a lifetime must be in God’s eyes. She whispered how glad she was that I had come.  I felt so grateful.

From that point on, the day was the flurry that most wedding days are.  There were a million pictures in subzero temperatures (it feels that way when you are out there long enough. It was Utah, after all). 

And suddenly I saw the scene, not from the generation getting married, but from the parent generation. When did we get so old? 

I loved that I got to be THAT person for my sweet Melissa.  The one who watches from the side and makes sure her bra strap isn't showing, no lipstick on the teeth, that her hair is blowing the right way... the one that will remember how beautiful she looks to tell her about later,  when we are two old ladies, a million years (or five minutes) from now.



An amazing thing happened for me that day.  I had been so worried about my health getting in the way of what we needed to accomplish for the reception.  After all that Melissa has meant to me in my life, I wanted to be everything she needed me to be on her special day.  Before the trip I had changed my diet to follow the Autoimmune Protocol (AIP), and had done great until the day prior.  The diet is a lot of work (more on that next time), so I decided not to worry about my food that day, and just eat what was available, praying that I would still be okay.

The amazing thing was that for the first time in months, I felt awesome.  So awesome.  I was quick on my feet and had tons of energy.  I lasted all day, and right into the night.  I spent the reception chasing Melissa back out of the kitchen, chatting with long-missed friends (the McKays, also old friends from the apartments, and my Soul Buddy Ellen from Sac, who now lives in Utah), and cutting watermelon and such.  I seriously felt better than I had since before the shingles hit back in September.



It didn't last, I will admit, but it gave me hope for better days ahead.  The next day my flu symptoms hit again, and I spent the day in Melissa's recliner nibbling leftover wedding food and visiting with my dear friend until it was time to go to the airport.  By a sweet coincidence, Jessica and hubby Brayden's flight to the Bahamas was leaving just ten minutes after mine, so we got to take her to the airport with us.  It was the perfect ending to my stay (I mean, for me.  I think she was focused on other things).

God answers prayers, even silly ones for a little extra energy. 

Isn’t that wonderful of him?

The Enchanted Wood

So, I told you about John and Jackie trekking across 520 miles (math-wise that's 1,040 round trip) of soon to be frozen tundra to come help us with our temperature troubles, our warming woes, our heating hullabaloo, our climate conundrum, our degree debacle, our...

Sorry.  You get the point.  

  While John and Guy were busily cutting a large-ish hole into the wall of the house, Jackie and I took a jaunt into Jackson on official business dropping Addyboy at work, and sort'a accidentally stumbled into The Hub, to show Jackie where my kiddos have classes. Then whoops!, we tripped and fell into the Hein & Company Bookstore.  It's an amazing Harry-Potter-esque place, that sucks you in and won't let you leave. 

So you see, 

Certain delays simply could NOT be avoided.

We staggered around helplessly, completely subject to the whims of old book smells, rustic romantic lighting and ancient dust.  It happened that just then my husband called.  As you know, any time a fix-it project is begun, about 15 minutes later a run to the hardware store will be required.  The menfolk needed doohickies and whatchamabobbits for the heater installation, and we were tasked with finding them.  I believe the conversation went like this:

Guy: "Are you on your way home?"

Me: "Something like that."

Well, technically we were going to end up home, so we were on the return leg of the trip. Somewhat.

(shhhhhh.  Don't tell.  He'll find out when he reads this).

We headed to the Jackson big-box hardware store, and much to our mutual dismay, we could not fit a 16 foot long piece of lumber, the only option for what we needed, into Guy's Hundai.  We scooted over to a place called Meeks, and the nice fellow there thought it seemed silly for us to have to buy a whole 16 feet of wood when we only needed 4 feet, so he just cut a bit off and gave it to us for free.  That's Jackson hospitality for you.  It wasn't the first time, and it surely won't be the last.

Guy called and let us know that they had decided to see if the little Pine Grove hardware store had the other baubles they needed, so we were off the hardware-hook.  We then felt it was only prudent to stop by the little town of Volcano, because IT WAS THERE.

I showed Jackie the Volcano Country Store, the oldest continuously running store in the state of California, built in 1850.  Cute owner Debbie  was as sweet and welcoming to Jackie as she was the first time we met her.

The shelves are mixed with modern and vintage products, some for sale, others for display. 

Well, we tore ourselves away from Volcano to deliver the 4 feet of wood we had acquired, and offer our help to the men.  As our husbands are quite manly men, we were not needed.  Shucks. 

What do you do when you are with your bosom friend and the children don't know you are home?  You run away into the woods, of course!  (quickly! Hurry, before they catch your scent!)

Jackie and John live with their three girls and sundry dogs, cats, chickens and horses in a beautiful house (well people and pets in, hourses and chicks out) on what I would call a "prairie" (though Jackie calls it a desert).  Much to Jackie's chagrin, there are only a smattering of trees there.  Jackie was smitten by our woods, and in a new way, so was I.  The rain over just two days had been like a magic spell, waking patches of dry, brown moss into lush green shag rugs on the trees and rocks all around.   

Jackie was particularly amused by our autumn leaves the size of dinner plates.

She managed to find about 7 uses for a leaf.

  

Here, you will enjoy seeing her reenact several scenes from history, accompanied by various British-y voices. 

We tromped all around our little wood, and seeing it through Jackie's fairytale lens made me see it with the little thrill I had the first time we saw the house.  All the inspections and documents and approvals had quite smothered my enthusiasm about our lovely wood.  

I wish you all could go on a walk in the woods with Jackie.   She sees magic everywhere.   She makes you realize that you really actually DO believe in fairies and such, but that the rude old world has snuffed out the candle of your imagination.   But luckily, Jackie carries imagination matches.

Alas, one cannot stay in the woods.  

Moss is not excellent toilet paper. 

Jackie went to my dad's place to visit him.   He was convinced she had grown several inches since college, which is very tricky of her.  It was fun to listen to them catch up.  I heard him tell stories about their mutual childhood stomping grounds in Montana that I'd never heard before. 

The gentlemen worked quite late into the evening,  but when all was done, there was a gorgeous little stove burning away in my dad's place, and he was toasty and content.  We stole away to one of the few places that is open after nine in Jackson, and enjoyed dinner and conversation, both, rich and sweet.  We talked about hard things that both our families have been through with our children, and I felt so understood,  so loved.  The time was over, far, far to soon.

They left the next morning.

After Jackie left Sunday morning, we texted back and forth pretending that they forgot something and simply must turn right around and come back.  It's the only way I could cope knowing they were getting further and further away. 

After they left, Jackie sent me the link to her pictures from the trip.  It was so interesting to see my world through her eyes. Even the mess in my studio seemed to carry the mystique of purposeful-clutter, rather than neglected-haphazardness.  I think it was Natalie's little shoes.  Children's outgrown shoes are precious relics, after all.

And then there were the books.  I've told you before that Jackie and I gift each other with books.  Well, Jackie snuck and hid two sweet books in our house, one on my painting easel, and one in the window accompanied by a sweet fairy door.

 Better than the books were the notes inside them, too dear to share here, but ones that will be sought out and read on future cloudy days, when I'm having trouble feeling the magic of our enchanted wood.

At least now John knows the way to our house in the woods. 

 Maybe he'll make his way here again, 

and maybe he'll bring Jackie with him.  

Better Than a Really Great Bra

Delayed Postification: (Noun); The act of posting about an event in one's life well after it has occurred because, although the author is sadly delinquent, the event bears emotional significance.

May was a month chalk full'o birthdays around here.  Two of those were these two lovelies right here; Kathy and Danielle.

I have been so blessed in my life to be surrounded by amazing women and truly caring friends.  These two go the extra mile though, literally.  Well, if yoga can be measured in miles (that metaphor would have worked better back when we were all running together).  They are more supportive than any bra I've ever owned.

Kathy and I have been exercising for several years together, dragging our kids out, rain or shine, to one another's houses.  We've run and jumping-jacked and push-uped together (hey! Like a bra!).  We are yoga-ing of late.  We also do a work-swap in our gardens and a craft day once a week.  We carpool, babysit, and generally help in many ways.  She is amazing.

Danielle, now she is a whole different kind of wonderful.  Our relationship is an amazing one of text-support.  It's a lot like tech-support, but without the outsourcing.  She and I talk food choices, health, exercise, emotional eating, and many other things.  We often exercise together if we can, but more important than anything to me is the absolutely judgement free zone she creates.  I can tell her I ate a whole bag of chocolate chips (which I would NEVER do, says the author, stuffing the empty bag in the bottom of the trash can), and she would listen to the why behind the behavior, and help me to work past it and on to better choices.  I can't say enough about how generous and loving she is.

So, I made these two amazing women a special lunch and tried to dote on them.  I used to be so good at doting!  I could have doted in the Olympics.  I was in The Doter's Hall of Fame.  If you looked in the 2009 Webster's Dictionary under dote, you'd see a picture of me.  It seems, though, that lately I don't dote too terrifically well.

At least, that's what that creepy voice in my head tells me.  The one that tries to convince me that I "should" do this and that.  The one that tells me my offerings are not enough.  The one that tricks me into comparing myself to others.  Well, that vociferous voice has learned a new trick:  Comparing myself to....

myself!

Dastardly!  Don't you agree?

You see, a few years ago I had a birthday lunch in October for 3 friends who celebrate in that month.  I made a great lunch with all the best flavors of Fall, and had cards and gifts for each of the ladies; personally made jewelry that I had matched to their individual personalities and color preferences.  

Now fast forward a few years.  This time there were no gifts.  In fact, if Ethan hadn't stepped in as my sous chef an hour before lift-off, meticulously (and rather mysteriously) mincing veggies into impossibly small cubes with his big yeti fingers, lunch would have been dinner.  When all was said and done...

I felt less than.

Less than generous.

Less than worthy.

Less than who I used to be.

Then I caught myself,

I reminded myself that "the lunch with the gifts" was two kids and one homeschooling lifetime ago.  I am not who I once was, it's true.  None of us are.  We give up certain things to achieve or learn or enjoy others.  Yes, we usually aspire to add to our lives things that will bless or improve, but sometimes in order to enjoy the best things, we must let go of a few good, but not essential ones.

"We women have a lot to learn about simplifying our lives. We have to decide what is important and then move along at a pace that is comfortable for us. We have to develop the maturity to stop trying to prove something. We have to learn to be content with what we are." 

~ Marjorie Pay Hinkley 

“We have to forego some good things in order to choose others that are better or best because they develop faith in the Lord Jesus Christ and strengthen our families.” 
~Dallin H. Oaks

Have you ever judged yourself?  

Have you belittled your sincere efforts? 

 Have you called your offerings and gifts unworthy?

Hey, guess what?  You are enough.

You are good.

You are generous.

Your gifts are worthy, and even lovely.

You are doing the best you can in this moment with what you have been given 

and

you 

are

enough.

Ya gotta have friends

... continued

After visiting mom's grave we got "out of the rain" and spent the evening at the Green Canyon Hot Springs, an ancient (circa 1950’s) indoor swimming pool fed by a natural hot spring.  

Let me take you there: It's cool and drizzly out, and rather perplexing for August.  You step into a doorway and are met with a blast of warm, wet air and the echoed voices of children.  A musty, woody odor hits, smelling like a run through the sprinklers.  A teenager behind the snack counter points down the narrow hallway to his right.  There, a cutout window in the hall opens to a tiny room hung with mesh bags on old wooden hangers.  The woman behind the counter moves and speaks like she works in a subway booth; she takes your money and hands you one of the bags.  You follow the cement corridor around to the ladies (or men’s, for my two male readers) changing room.  The wooden dressing stalls have just a skimpy curtain to change behind.  The wooden stalls are worn from decades of use, and random cement patches make a grey patchwork quilt of the uneven floor.  A dozen layers of peeling paint reveal as many colors as the decades in which they were painted.  You step into the indoor pool area that feels like one of those old Turkish bath houses you see in National Geographic, and lower yourself into water that is a cozy 90 degrees.  An outside pool fed directly by the hot spring is a scorching 110 at least.  Next to it is a freezing cold dipping pool fed by mountain runoff. 

Ultra-modest Ellie would have none of the changing stalls.  She fussed and hid and complained, certain that someone was lurking to sneak a peak at her, and finally found a hiding place to change into her suit.  We eased into the bath like pool spent the afternoon bobbing about and watching the babies play on the long steps.  Heidi’s baby, Lincoln, is just one day younger than Natalie, but far more agile and balanced.  The menfolk headed out to the hot pool and the cold dip. 

I did not. 

Guy did.  He is crazy that way.  It reminds him of his mission in Finland where they sat in a 200 degree sauna (SOW-na, if you care to say it properly.  It is a Finnish word, after all) and then rolled in the snow.  Preferably naked (you heard me). He likes that flesh-searing-heat followed by toe-curling-cold experience.  I have given birth, so I don’t need any more excitement for this lifetime. 

As I hung out with Heidi, the days that have accumulated between us melted away until I forgot that I don’t get to see her whenever I want.  I realized that we were just sitting there in silence, side by side, watching the babies play. 

“Oh, my goodness! Look at me just acting like we get to see each other all the time!” I blurted, “Quick!  Tell me everything!”  She laughed.  

But then I made her tell me everything. 

 It dawned on me how much I have missed, and how much I miss her. They say that the friendships you make are for a season, a reason, or a lifetime.  Heidi is definitely a lifer in my book.  I met her just after the terrible loss of her first baby boy, Andrew, whose little body just couldn't support life.  We have walked together, painted together, cleaned and cried and worked together.  We served in church as the leadership in the young women's organization, and have studied Parenting with Love and Logic together as well.  I was at her second baby's birth, and because our younger kiddos are paired in age, we have booked a lot of hours nursing together.  There is very little that we have not shared.

Now we also share distance.

It is so hard when friends leave us.  I have lost contact with many friends over the years, but there are a precious few that I have held on to.  Even though my friendship with Heidi started with a "reason", it has definitely grown into one that I believe will last beyond this lifetime. 

 I was reading in the New Testament today about Jonathan and David, and the friendship they had that was so close, "the soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul" (1 Samuel 18:1).  One of my greatest blessings in this life has been to have such a friend, a few, actually.  I think that God, in his wisdom, gave us friendship, "bosom friends", as my dear friend Jackie says, or, - as Ellen calls them- "soul buddies", because He loves us.  He loves us and He knew this earth-walk would be hard, so He gave us kindred spirits to lighten the journey.  I am so grateful to live in an age where the voice or even the face of a dear friend can cross hundreds of miles, and be right there.

What an amazing time in the history of the world to be alive.

Ethan, hiding behind his mesh bag.

Jonah won't let me wash his hair at home 

and is freaked out by laying down in the bath. 

 Go figure.

Eli and Jonah-boy, all swum out. 

Tessa models the latest in travel wear and wet hair.

My Friend, Marion

Dan and Marion in the last photo taken of them.
  It is the most tender, perfect family portrait I have ever seen.
 Used with permission of the family.

 

I had called Dan on his cell phone as we drove past their house.  I'd found it was the best way to catch he and Marion these days since she had been so sick.  Marion was often sick, but you never really knew how sick she truly was because Marion had the tenacity to go straight from the hospital right to the church building to help with an activity or to play the organ.  Nothing could slow her down and I knew that this little bump in the road could be no exception.

 

"Hyeee-llo", Dan said in his pleasant sing-song as he picked up the phone, like always.  After a few pleasantries, I asked, "So how's our Marion today?"

 

"Not s'good.  The nurse came a little while ago.  They don't expect she'll last more than a few days."

 

I was shocked and could only utter a feeble apology.  Dan is one of those folks who seems to see right through you, and I have always felt a little nervous talking to him.  Now I had no words at all.  Through a mist of tears I told Guy what Dan had said.  How could it be that this amazing lady, my friend Marion, was going to leave?

 

I don't remember the first time I talked to Marion, but the first time I was invited to her home is burned into my memory in silver and blue.  It was Christmas (at this moment, any of you who knew her are smiling).  Marion had come to a church activity for the sisters at my house.  I had our place all decked out for Christmas.  We tend to put quite a lot of time end energy into our decorating, but Marion only seemed to view my festive efforts as quaint.  Later that week as my family stood in her entry way I learned why.

 

Marion's house was more elaborately decorated than the North Pole itself.  She had an angel room, and one of all Santas.  She decorated each bedroom and bathroom, her kitchen, and even her laundry room.  She placed an immense, glistening village, composed of dozens of gleaming buildings and houses along the cabinets that skirted her own bedroom.  The warm light reflected off of the mirrors and flooded the room with an ethereal glow. It took she and Dan nearly 15 minutes to switch on all the lights and music boxes, and then at least half an hour to give us the tour. 

 

It was, as was Marion, amazing.

 

She was a storyteller, she was a musician, she served her family and friends and she served the Lord.  One of the most beautiful gifts that Marion gave my family was that of her music, or more specifically, her time.  She provided music lessons to our family, free of any compensation, for over two years.  She didn't mind when the girls decided to take a break after the first six months, and told me not to worry, they could come back any time.  Sadly, that is no longer the case.  Adam stuck with it, though sometimes with less devotion than was deserved.  On those times when I begged her forgiveness when Addy came week after week not having practiced (not for my lack of nagging), she would sweetly say, "Oh, now, don't worry.  Boys do this.  What is important is that he's here and he keeps trying.  He's a good boy."  She had a way of making my feelings of shame melt into comfortable normalcy. 

 

Marion could make you feel so good about yourself.  She always had a compliment to pay, a kind word of encouragement, or a little story that bridged decades to help me through a mothering challenge.  She knew how to turn a bad moment around.  Though I knew she'd had many trials in her life, she didn't wallow in them.  She seemed perpetually happy.  When asked the tired question, "How are you?", she almost always replied, "Great!"

 

The thing I loved most about Marion was that she was the lovely half of a mighty whole.  She and her sweetie, Dan, were such a tender pair.  When I imagine what I would want my marriage to be like, now and forty years from now, it is after the template made by Dan and Marion.

 

In fact, there isn't much about Marion that I don't aspire to be.  Marion used her talents to bless the lives of others right to the end of her life.  She was one busy lady, never resting on her laurels or taking a "sick day".  In fact, when I had my last blood clot removed I thought of how often Marion had come straight away from the hospital to some church event, and so I told Guy I wanted to go to our church activity that night.  If Marion could power through the way she did in her late 80's, well, certainly I could try as well.

 

That day, the day I called Dan and learned Marion's lovely light was fading, Guy and I decided we would go see her the next day to say goodbye.  But we didn't get a chance.  Marion passed away that night.

 

And Marion left this life the way I would like to leave; in her sweetie's arms, surrounded in spirit by dozens of her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.  Her mind was clear and, right to the end, we were told, she bore testimony to her loved ones of her faith in a Divine Creator, a loving Heavenly Father who had provided a plan for her and her life.  Marion shared her faith with everyone in the beautiful way she lived her life, and though we heard it from her lips often, we would have known it had she never spoken a word. 

 

I sang this morning at Marion's memorial service.  I was so glad when I glanced at the program before the meeting started and saw that I was to sing in the first few minutes of the service.  I can't cry before I sing because it turns on my waterworks, and I don't get through the song.  And I wanted to weep -no, bawl! - but weeping would have to do.  And weep I did at song's end before I even left the front of the chapel after Guy played the last notes on the piano. 

 

Marion's family was so calm and peaceful.  I felt almost ashamed in front of them over my bursts of tears during the luncheon.  After all, I am not even related.  But then it dawned on me; her family has had her all their lives; lifetimes of her wonderful sense of humor and radiant smile.  Sadly, I have only had Marion as my friend for ten years.  I certainly don't feel done.  Not that any of them do either, of course, but I can still feel jealous.  How would it have been to have a whole lifetime with Marion?

 

***

 

"...weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning."

Psalms 30:5

 

 Post Script: Marion asked me years ago to sing for her funeral,

and she knew just what song she wanted. 

 

"Oh, that I were an angel,

oh, that I were an angel

and could have the wish of my heart!"

 

Marion, you got your wish.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Delayed Announcement

 

I wish I were more organized,

I would send these out in the mail.

But since I'm not, no sense in not sharing

 our baby announcements anyway!

 

These are some of the beautiful photos my sweet friend Robin took of Natalie last month.  Natalie cried nearly the entire time, but Robin was patient and kind.  There were over a hundred amazing pictures, and this is only a smidgen of them.  I am sure I will find excuses to share more of them in the future!

 

Robin is an amazing lady in other ways.  She calls herself a meteor magnet, because if one fell from space, it would seriously hit someone in her family.  Several of her children have some pretty intense health concerns, and the folks at the ER know the family by name.  Robin herself has not evaded the meteors.  Health issues have haunted her as well, and her mother was recently near death and was hospitalized for several weeks.  Let's say the girl knows stress.  But her faith is strong and she is a great example of perseverance as she holds it all together.

 

Oh, and babies love her.

 

I am grateful for the talents my friends have been blessed with.  Some are like Robin, with artistic talents, amazing energy and creativity.  Others, like Melissa, Kathy, Francine and Chantal are wonderful active-listeners who make therapy unnecessary.  Some, like Danielle, Madelaine, Joanna, Amanda and Krista show up, and by showing up bring comfort and help (Robin is also one of these). 

 Some make me laugh,

 some share their faith,

some wipe tears

and some join right in to shed them. 

 

“We are all in this together. We need each other. Oh, how we need each other. Those of us who are old need you who are young, and hopefully, you who are young need some of us who are old...We need deep and satisfying and loyal friendships with each other. These friendships are a necessary source of sustenance. We need to renew our faith every day. We need to lock arms and help build the kingdom so that it will roll forth and fill the whole earth.”

― Marjorie Pay Hinkley

 

Standing on the bed to get the perfect shot.

 

If you would like to hire Robin to take your family or baby photos,

check out her website

http://www.rleachphotography.blogspot.com/

You will love her!!! (We do!)