A Family Christmas

There's just something about Christmas.  The birth of Jesus is celebrated in churches and homes everywhere.  Watching the plays with children wearing masks of baby sheep, cows and donkeys, hearing them singing "Silent Night" off key while their halos are sliding off their heads, is amusing and heart warming.

I think of all the Christmases that we gathered up piles of gifts and rounded up the kids, packed them all in the car and traveled through the snowy roads to my husband's parents' house, to have dinner with the family.  There were hugs, brothers and sisters talking, cousins running through the house, and Papaw standing over the stove cooking the meal.  There was always a platter of his delicious homemade peanut butter fudge sitting on the table.  Mamaw would be sitting in her recliner, smiling while each of the grandchildren would stop playing long enough to tell her some big story of toys, or games, or practically anything of importance in a child's mind

Then, there was the trip to my sister's house in Tennessee.  As soon as we'd walk in the door, the boys would be off to the bedroom to play video games, or to reek havoc throughout the house.  My sister and I would escape to the kitchen to talk and laugh hysterically at just about everything.  My husband, my brother in law, and the older boys would be reclined in the living room in chairs and all over the floor watching football games.

As I sit here, watching the snow fall outside, I will grieve a little over the people we have loved, but have lost, then I will smile over sweet memories.  And after a few minutes of reminiscing, I will get my mind in gear for the activities that will be happening in my own house.

All my children will come in,  stomping the snow from their feet, toddlers running through the house, screaming, "MIMI" or "POPPY"!!!!  There will be smells of baked cookies, food simmering on the stove, and a faint aroma of pine tree in the room. Our older grandchildren will interject into the adult conversations what they've been doing at school.  They'll tell of things going on with friends and who likes who, and who is dating who.  My  grandson will be quietly looking around at the food, ready to get the party started.  The toddlers will go straight to the toy box and pull toys out by the handfuls, they'll be giving hugs, running in and out of rooms with squeals of excitement.  The girls will all gravitate to the kitchen, while the men (or I should say, boys) will all pile on the sofas for some kind of talk about touchdowns, work, trucks, or guns.

There's nothing like it.  To think, it all began in a stable with a manger and a little baby.

Merry Christmas everyone!

Twas the Night Before Christmas in Our Church House

This is just a little poem I wrote from the original, "Twas the Night Before Christmas" by Clement Clark Moore.  The people in our church are so friendly, funny, and such characters!  I wrote this for our Christmas dinner this year, based on my church family.  If you knew them, you would know
that Emma screams when she's startled.  Sue is in charge of our nursery downstairs and can whip through changing diapers like nobody's business.  Rita is the pastor's wife, Sam is a quiet, humorous man, Tony is about seven feet tall,  and Mrs. Tucker is the sweetest 94 year old lady  you could ever meet.  So, welcome to my church, my church family, and my crazy mind!


Twas the night before Christmas,
the pastor preaching in the church house.
Not a creature was stirring,
until Emma screamed, "THERE'S A MOUSE!!"

The children were all nestled in the nursery with care,
Sue changing diapers, slinging them through the air.
When all of a sudden there was a commotion overhead,
She yelled, "Please be quiet!  You could wake the dead!"

Never before had there been such a clatter,
as Rita jumped the pews yelling, "What's the matter!"
Sarah was trying to escape through the window sash,
as Rebekah fainted to the floor with a booming crash!

The mouse was so tiny, so lively, so quick.
Up and down the pews ran Sam with a stick.
And then, before our eyes, what should appear?
Tony running the aisles yelling, "Let's get outta here!"

The deacons, the trustees, they made such a gang
From his perch on the organ, Preacher called them by name.
"Come Bob, come Tim, come Thomas, come all!
Get me down from here before I fall!"

As the little mouse scurried, as sly as a fox,
Mrs. Tucker captured it in a tiny red box.
She turned and smiled and straightened her shawl,
She raised the box and said, "Merry Christmas to all!"

He Saw Jesus

It's Christmas time once again, and once again we will hear the Christmas story.  No, not about the man in the red suit, but the story of the birth of our Saviour.  We hear about the baby, the shepherds, the wise men, and about Mary, but we don't hear much of Joseph, the stepfather to Jesus.  What a brave man he must have been.  What a Godly man, he showed himself to be.

He was a carpenter.  He was a  man of good standing in the community, who was espoused to a young woman named, Mary.  His name was Joseph. 

As important as it was for God to find just the right woman to be the birth mother for his son, it was just as important that he find the right man to be the stepfather to Jesus.

As was the custom at this time, marriages were arranged, so it could have been that Mary and Joseph knew, as children, that they were to be married whenever they came of age.  They may have played together as children and shyly flirted with each other as preteens.  Their love probably started to develop very early on, knowing that they would spend their lives together as husband and wife.

Joseph knew he would have to provide for his family, so he was trained to be a carpenter.  This was not an easy occupation.  There were no battery powered hand drills, no electric table saws, and no gas fueled chain saws.  It was all done by hand with very primitive tools.  They had to cut, trim, and plane each piece of wood used by hand.  In the times of Joseph, many of the roofs made for the homes were just large timbers laid from wall to wall with mud plastered in the crevices, so a carpenter would have to move and place these by hand. It was not an occupation for the weak.
 
So, as the years progressed, I'm sure Joseph's physique went through some changes and he became a strong, muscular man.  As well, his stature in the community probably increased, as he learned to accomodate people, to work with them, and to be fair in his dealings.  He took pride in his work and in his life.  It seemed everything was looking up.  Good job, good health, nice position in the town, and a sweet girl already under contract to become his wife within a few, short months.  Life was good.

Life was good, until that one, earth shattering day.  That day, when the woman of his dreams, the woman considered to be righteous and Godly, the woman that promised herself to him, came to him with a story of betrayal.  How could she! How could she embarrass him in the town!  How could she have done such a thing!  How could she be with child?

This information plagued him.  It consumed him.  As he worked, the thoughts of betrayal mocked him with each pass of the sanding stone.  As his muscles tired and sweat dripped from his face, each stroke of the hammer said, "Why?  Why?  Why?"

He could make no sense of this story of a baby concieved of God, to be birthed without Mary ever knowing a man, and then for the baby to be the Promised One, the Saviour of the world, the Christ child.

If someone was espoused, it was a binding contract, just as if they were married, so when Mary came to him with this news, he knew that the outcome of such a revelation would be excommunication for Mary, she would be shamed, ridiculed, and possibly stoned for adultery.

Joseph cared for her, in spite of the circumstances, and decided that he would not go to the authorities with this information, but would send her away privately, inconspicuously.  He would see to her safety and he would protect her reputation.  He loved her.

As he tossed and turned, trying to get some rest from all this turmoil, he finally closed his eyes in fitful sleep.  It was during this sleep that God saw his heartache and sent a messenger to Joseph.  The angel comforted him with words of truth. The angel comforted him with affirmation that what Mary had told him was the truth and that it was of God.

Joseph put all fears aside and followed God by faith.  He took Mary as his wife, and when that night of all nights finally came and he looked into the face of his stepson, he saw the face of glory, the giver of grace, the reflection of mercy.

He counted the perfect little fingers and saw the healing of all nations.  He rubbed those pudgy, baby feet and saw they would walk the road to complete sacrifice.  He saw in those tiny eyes, forgiveness
.
He saw Jesus.

Matthew 1:18-25  Now the birth of Jesus Christ was on this wise:  when as his mother, Mary, was espoused to Joseph, before they came together, she was found with child of the Holy Ghost.
 
Then Joseph her husband, being a just man, and not willing to make her a publick example, was minded to put her away privily.

But while he thought on these things, behold, the angel of the Lord appeared unto him in a dream, saying, Joseph, thou son of David, fear not to take unto thee Mary thy wife:  for that which is conceived in her is of the Holy Ghost.

And she shall bring forth a son, and thou shalt call his name JESUS:  for he shall save his people from their sins. Now all this was done, that it might be fulfilled which was spoken of the Lord by the prophet saying

 Behold, a virgin shall be with child, and shall bring forth a son, and they shall call his name Emmanuel, which being interpreted is, God with us.

FIGHT ON!

Thanksgiving has always held such a special place in my heart.  It's a time of reflecting on how God brought a handful of people across the ocean, starving, scared, and ready to begin a new life in spite of the struggles.  Hearing how they survived with the help of the native Americans, and how they gave God thanks and glory for it al,l is always an uplifting story.

It's a time of reflecting on how much God is still blessing America, in spite of the constant warfare of people trying to bring our great nation to her knees.  It'sa time of reflecting on our own families beginnings.  The new marriages, the new children, and at this point in my life, the new grandchildren.  And in the midstof all this reminscing, giving our Heavenly Father thanks and honor for all his blessings.
. 
Being thankful is acknowledging that someone has bestowed upon us some sort of gift.  Did you know that God equates being unthankful as bad as being a liar?  Being selfish?  Being celf centered and a braggart?  Being a sexual deviant?  Being unholy?  Pretty serious stuff.  Read 2 Timothy chapter 3.  The next time we think, "why did God do this to me?, or why didn't God answer my prayer the way I wanted?", we had better take a step back, reevaluate ourselves, and thank God that we're breathing, that we can see, that we can walk, that our heart is beating.

I don't suppose it was easy for Paul when he was imprisoned and beaten.  I don't suppose it was easy for Mary when she was being shunned because she was a young girl, unmarried, and pregnant.  So, I guess we'll make it through when we don't get that new car we wanted, or when we didn't get the name brand purse.

It's easy to be thankful when we're on top of the world and everything is going great.  But how easy is it to bow our heads and be thankful when someone we loved just walked out on us?  How easy is to say thanks when we're in financial hardships? How easy is it to be thankful when our bodies are racked with pain? When we are going through trials and it's hard to just face another day, God still makes his love known.  We just may have to look a little harder for the things in which to be thankful.

I've been making trips to Tennessee my whole life.  It's where my birth family is.  It's where my heritage is.  However, the past seven or eight years have been quite a different experience.

Before, it was to reunite, have good times, eat meals together, and reminisce.  Later it was to help with sicknesses, surgeries, be a stronghold, and hold loved ones in death.  It's been difficult to be thankful in these circumstances.

My last trip, I saw a change in my mom.  She was more forgetful, weaker, and sadder.  When she asked me if I was leaving to go back home and I told her I was, her countenance changed.  It broke my heart....again.  So, as I left her and then took my stepdad back home and watched him as he walked to his apartment, all hunched over with age, taking slow, careful steps, I lost it....again. 

Every time I leave there, I wonder if it will be the last time I see them.

As I was travelling on down the road, brokenhearted, and telling God that I just couldn't take this....again, a song came on the radio.  I don't remember ever
hearing it before, but the words I heard were,

    * "I really hate to bother you, but Lord, I've gotta whole lot on my mind
      I know that you're real busy, but I promise I won't take much of your time
      but Lord I need a little grace, to help me make it through
      I need to feel that kind of love that only comes from you.
      If you'll just sqeeze my hand, let me feel you by my side
      You said you'd never leave me, you'd always be my guide
      but the storms of life sometimes won't let the sun shine through
      Lord, I need to feel that kind of love that only comes from you

And you know what happened?  I travelled a few more miles and I saw a sign (yep, God still sends signs).  It was one of those signs where nothing is advertised and they have a phone number on it that you can call to have a sign put up.  Well, the phone number was at the bottom along with the words "lease me", but above that in huge letters were these words, "FIGHT ON.  THE BEST IS YET TO COME."

Well, that just sent me into another fit of tears because like the song said, "if you'll just squeeze my hand and let me feel you by my side" He did!  God held my hand while I was leaving town.  He comforted me and told me it would be okay
.
In spite of the heartache, God blessed.  I'm so very thankful for that.  I know that God isn't going to put up a big sign everytime we're struggling, but if we look around, we'll find the ways in which He's telling us that He's near.  It may be a song, it may be laughter of a child, or it may just be a memory, but God always shows us his love in very special ways.
 
God bless each of you and may you have a special Thanksgiving season this year.

Hebrews 13:15  By Him therefore let us offer the sacrifice of praise to God continually, that is, the fruit of our lips giving thanks to His name.

(song-

*Special Love by Karen Peck and New River)

My Best Friend and Me

I have so many fun memories of Halloween.  When I was a kid (in the dark ages) our parents just let us go out on our own.  It was a time of innocence. 

Parents didn't worry about perverts, drive bys, or kidnappings.  They were unheard of.  Neighbors watched out for each other.

This was my favorite night because I could go out with my friends and I didn't even have to have my older brother along to spoil the fun.  I was free!!

My best little friend and I would plan, giggle, prepare, giggle, and finally come up with our costume to be presented runway style for our moms.  Then we'd giggle some more.

One particular Halloween, we decided we were going to be a two headed monster.  We were both built like little stick figures, so we got a pair of pants and a shirt from a man that was quite hefty.  I got in one leg, she in the other and zip.  I put one arm in the shirt sleeve, she put one arm in the other and buttoned up. 

The only difficulty was that this was back when men's pant legs were pegged, which means they were very small at the bottom.  So we had two feet popped out of each pant leg that was basically a tourniquet around our ankles.  Not only did we have to get the geisha girl walk down, but we had to coordinate our tiny steps while hugging each other with one arm.  Besides wobbling down the road with our heads banging together, we did pretty good.  Shuffle....shuffle....giggle....bang. 

After staggering and giggling our way through the little community, we started down the scary part of road between her house and mine.  There were some rock cliffs along one side and it had tiny little holes or caves in the cliffs.  Her dad always enjoyed telling us that Indians were buried in those holes and that sometimes at night they would come out.

Well, for two little girls, this was cause for imagination, fear, and of course, giggles.  As we were beginning that spooky stretch of road, we heard someone behind us.  After cracking our heads together several times we were to get a glimpse of a boy behind us.  Not just any boy, but the boy that greased his hair back, wore a white t-shirt with a pack of Marlboro's rolled up in one sleeve, and a black leather jacket on over that.  Yep, he must be dangerous.  We had our own community Fonz. 


Once we were able to keep our heads from knocking together and get turned back around, we got our shuffle into double time.  We may have made sparks, I don't know, but for some reason fear with little girls brings on fits of whisper giggling.  We were whisper giggling uncontrollably and setting off sparks as we shuffled on down the road.

As he got closer and closer I'm not sure our feet were even touching the ground at this point, but he came right up behind us AND..........just walked around us. 

Well, that was pretty anticlimactic.  So, we just shuffled our way around the rest of the neighborhood, got our pillowcases full of candy, went to her house, ate our candy and spent the rest of the evening giggling and enjoying our sugar high.

Memory. It's a Wonderful Thing.

Oh, the joys of getting older.  Isn't it something how that just sitting can cause discomfort.  I look at my little granddaughters and see them sitting with their little legs all twisted and backwards, and I sadly think, "I used to be able to do that."

There's hardly ever a "good night's sleep" anymore.  Sneezing, coughing and even laughing too hard can cause....well, we'll not go there.  Things sag, droop, pop and crack.  Upper arms continue to wave long after the hand stops.  And you find fifty different kinds of moisturizers and wrinkle creams in your bathroom cabinet.

And then there's that memory thing............

What was I saying?

Anyway, yesterday was a fun day filled with memory lapses and moments of complete confusion.  It was my son's birthday so we were all going to meet in town and have a nice dinner out.  All the kids and grandkids were going to be there and we were just going to enjoy the evening.

My husband and I decided to meet so he wouldn't have to drive all the way home, so he parked his car at the Park n Ride several miles from my house, called me to meet him and I was on my way.  After going down the road, I realized I had forgotten my son's birthday gift at home.

Turn around.  Drive back home.  Get gift.....well, get gift after running through the house trying to figure out where I had put it.  Drive back down road.  Go to Park N Ride.  Pick up husband.

Whew.  We're on our way.

We had a really good dinner with lots of laughter, good food, babies playing and opening gifts.  After we all went outside, hugged everyone, looked at the moon with the babies and sang, "Oh Mister Moon", we said goodbye and were on our way home.

On the way home, I was asking my husband to look at something or read something (I don't know....I forget) anyway, he needed to use his eyes. He began to look for his glasses.  In his pants pockets?  Not there.  In shirt pocket?  Nope.  In my purse?  Nada.

Stop the car!  Turn around.  We called the restaurant but they said they didn't find them.  We told them we would come back anyway and look for them because maybe he had dropped them in the parking lot.  So, we're on our way back and I ask him to reach something in the backseat.  Again, I don't remember what it was, but evidently it was important enough for me to pull over because he couldn't reach whatever it was.

I stop, he gets out of the car, looks down and picks up glasses out of the floor.  Well, how about that.  So now we're on our way home....again.

We're in deep discussion about something.  Again, I don't remember what, but we were engrossed.  We drive up the driveway, pull into the garage, get out and realize.....we left his car at the Park N Ride.

Oh well.  We're happy.

Lord, Help Us All

The past few days I've been in kind of a melancholy frame of mind.  There's so much turmoil going on right now in our nation that has friends barking and snapping at each other because their views are different. 

Divorce is rampant.  Families are feuding.  Children hate their parents.  Moms and dads  just walk off and leave their kids, never looking back.  People hating the religious, and many religions hating people. Different races at war, and wars going on all over the planet.  People screaming tolerance, yet not tolerant of anyone that disagrees with them.  Road rage...school rage....violent rage.

What in the world?  What has happened to us?  Where are we headed?

Looking back, I can remember my grandfather, Papa, never learning to drive.  He walked everywhere he went and when seen walking, sometimes someone would stop and see if he needed a ride.  That was a time when kindness was the motive.  It was great living in that kind of society. 

My brother and I would ride our bikes or  skateboards all over our neighborhood in Knoxville.  People watched out for each other, and honestly cared about each other.  It was a fun, carefree time.

I'm not naïve enough to think that bad things didn't happen back then, I absolutely know it did, but it wasn't the norm.  People were genuinely surprised to hear about acts of hatred and violence.  It was the exception to hear of hatred, violence, murder, and abuse.  Today, it's become so normal that we hardly even take notice of such acts.

I've tried to figure it out and the only thing that makes sense to me is control.  We've become so self serving and self engrossed that anything that dares to disturb our self absorption becomes the object of our tirades.

That guy that pulled out in front of us made us angry.  Why?  We couldn't control his driving.  We couldn't control him, we couldn't make him wait until we had passed by.

That person that we just had a fight with because they don't vote the same way we do, or have the same religious views.  We get angry because we can't control their thinking.  We can't make them see things the way we do.

Those poor, deluded children who think they have the right to go into school and kill other students because they couldn't control what their peers thought of them. 

That husband, wife, friend, or family member that we just argued with, that we've talked about, that we may have even gotten violent with, is the object of our anger because of our inability to control what we think they should say, how they should act, what they should do.

I wonder why we all  have gotten to that point that we think a person should suffer our wrath just because they didn't do as we expected.  We  don't stop to think that maybe we're wrong, maybe we judged too harshly, or maybe we don't have a clue what that person is dealing with.  And then we
act surprised because there are repercussions for our outbursts.  We're surprised that our blood pressure is out of hand.  We're surprised that we are plagued with headaches and illnesses.  We're surprised when friends walk out of our lives.  We're surprised when we're overloaded with guilt and depression.

Who wins?  Who walks away unscathed?  No one.  We can never unsay a word.  We can never undo a deed.  We can never make someone unhear  or unsee something. 

Lord help us all....me especially, that I use control to sensor me, that I may guard my words and my actions, that I may try to emulate Christ's example of what I should be, that I may "do unto others" only those things that God would be pleased with.  I want to be that person that is understanding....that person that loves....that person that is kind.


Ephesians 4:29  Let no corrupt communication proceed out of your mouth, but that which is good to the edifying, that it may minister grace unto the hearers.

Ephesians 4:32  And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another even as God for Christ's sake has forgiven you.

Way To Go!!!

How awesome is this kid!  My thirteen year old, autistic, ADHD diagnosed grandson ran in a cross country event yesterday for his team.

Our Zach has had quite a struggle his young life.  He has impulses and uncontrolled behaviours that most of us don't understand.  He doesn't understand them either.  After a particular violent episode a few years ago, he was sitting calmly and asked, "Grammy, what's wrong with me?"

Most people think, "just spank his behind" or "put him in a corner for timeout" and that will take care of the problem.  That's because so many of us have no idea what autism is much less how to deal with it.  Even the "professionals" are at a loss and just try hit and miss strategies.

But in spite of having to spend almost two years in a home for autistic kids, away from his family, going to a different school and trying to learn new behaviours, coming back home and being thrown into, yet, another new school, he's coping.

Now, Zach is in middle school, competing on the track team and making friends.  And, can I say at this point, that not all teenagers out there are selfish, mean, drug induced zombies.  As a matter of fact, that depiction is such a small minority of the kids at Zach's school, it's not even worth mentioning.  These kids have opened their minds to autism, have opened their arms to a fellow team mate, and opened their hearts to his friendship.

Yesterday, I watched as Zach ran and laughed with his friends.  I saw him spend time with other people and not just cling on to his mom.  As he ran across the field with a couple of his buddies getting ready for their event, I yelled to him, "I WANT TO SEE YOU PASS EVERYONE, BUDDY!"  He turned to me and a smile split his face and he yelled back, "I will!"

You see, Zach has such a tender heart that he doesn't want to pass his friends.  He'll hang back and not get a reward just so he doesn't beat his pals. 

When I heard the cannon boom, I knew Zach would be rounding the corner to where I was waiting.  I was standing there in anticipation, stretching my neck, looking for our Zach.  He was looking for me, too, and I think we spotted each other at the same time and he had a grin that went all the way around his head.  He was beaming as he heard me yelling and cheering for him.  As he went by me with that face splitting grin, I was choked up.  Yep.  There I stood among cheering parents and friends, crying.  I was crying for all the hard times, all the heart aches, all the struggles just washed away because he was one of them.  He was a team mate.  He was a fellow teenager.  He was a friend.  AND, he was in the lead!!

Since it was a two mile run, there was time for me to walk up to the finish line and wait.  A few boys ran by and I kept thinking that maybe he was just not up to it,  or maybe he quit because it was such a long way, but then I saw him.  I saw him coming up over the hill toward the line.  He wasn't grinning now, he was sweating...profusely, but he was running!  He didn't quit!  He was giving it every thing he had!

Our Zach came in EIGTH out of six different middle schools!  Woohoo!!!!  Way to go buddy!!

When he came over to where his mom and I were standing after finishing, he asked his mom if they could go get something to eat.  Typical teenage boy.  I gave him some money to make sure he could go get a hotdog or something after the meet.  He stood there and counted it.  Typical teenage boy.

Going Home

Going home.  I don't know what it is about going home that gets us so excited.  I can remember, as a young child, how we went to Grandma's and Papa's house on Sundays.  My brother and I would get hyped up and energetic because there would be dozens of cousins there as hyped up and energetic as we were. 

We would run through the kitchen, grab one of Grandma's everpresent biscuits off the stove,  run out the back with a bang of the screen door and head straight to Papa's barn where we'd play in the loft until dinner time.  My teenage sister would be looking forward to going off and sitting with other teenage cousins, whispering, giggling and talking about all the things teenagers talk about.

Going home.  Now my house is the place that the family goes home to.  My sons sit in the living room watching ballgames on tv, laughing at each other and , generally, just enjoying each other's company.  My husband is going back and forth between the living room and the kitchen taking it all in while helping me prepare a meal.  Now, I have daughters in law sitting around the table with my daughter enjoying lots of high voiced laughter and conversation as they chop and  peel vegetables.  And through all this confusion, we now have toddlers bobbling through the house with shrieks of excitement and a trail of cookie crumbs behind them.  The only thing that makes it better is when we have sisters, brothers, nephews and nieces sharing in all the fun.  Ahh....the noise....the chaos....the fun of it all.

Going home.  The one that we, as Christians, look forward to is our final home.  Heaven.  I can't comprehend the event.  I can't even begin to comprehend the reunions, the sights, the Saviour.  I can't imagine the emotions of seeing those little children that parents have lost before they could even hold them.  I can't imagine holding the hands of grandparents that held us as a child.   I can't imagine holding and hugging those brothers and sisters that we have longed to see again.  I can't imagine looking into the eyes of parents that looked on us for the first time.  I can't imagine the sights, the beauty, the complete joy.  I can't imagine seeing the Saviour that loved me before I was formed, that loved me through all my ugliness and sin, that loved me enough to spread his arms in complete surrender to all the brutalities placed on him so that, one day, I could .... go home.

I Corinthians 2:9  But as it is written, Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man the things which God hath prepared for them that love him. 
 

My Sister's Love Letter to Me

My sister passed away yesterday in her sleep. These are the hardest words I have ever written or said.

My sister has been the one constant thing in my life. You see, there are sisters that love each other, but  may go weeks without talking. They love each other but go months without seeing each other.   This is not the case with my sister and me.

 We have always been a part of each other's lives....births, parties, holidays, graduations, showers, vacations...always together, always there for each other.  Even though we've lived hundreds of miles apart, we made a way.

More than fifteen years ago, I wrote a small book of memories of my sister and me. I gave it to her for Christmas to keep, to reminisce, to encourage. Today, one day after her death, her youngest son, gave me back the book. He said they had gotten it out a while back and read through it together and that she wanted me to have it back if she passed.

So, I began to read through some of the pages and I came upon the one that spoke of the day she got married so many years ago, when I was still just a young girl of about 8 or 9.....

"After the wedding day, we all went back to our house at Woodlawn. You had to finish picking up your things. You had an old pillow that I loved and you were taking it with you. I was teasing and playing, holding onto the pillow, saying you couldn't take it, trying to keep the tears back by covering up with giggles. Your 'newly acquired husband' scolded me about it and told me to quit.

Little did he know, it wasn't the pillow I wanted to keep at all--it was my part time mom, my sister, my best friend."

Underneath this story was my sister' handwriting...

"You asked me if I didn't love you as much now. I said I would never stop loving you in a million years. And I won't."

My sister surpassed death, time, and galaxies and left me this love letter just when I needed it most.