Keepsakes

I read an interesting quote the other day, it went something like this--sometimes it's not the people we miss, but the memories.  That really struck home with me.  It made me stop and think.  I've had to move a lot and after living in 4 different states--I have discovered that I do miss the memories but I miss the people too.  I get so attached and then have to move away, left only with sweet memories.  Sometimes when my heart aches so much and I think I won't make it through the day I find myself looking through my many photo albums.  I pour through my books and also sit staring at the nearly 25,000 pictures on my laptop.  Yes, I said 25,000.   Many times those photos are all I have left--just pictures and memories.

I don't have a lot of keepsakes though, not really.  I've moved so much through the years that over time things have been either given away or donated to charity, but I do tend to be very sentimental.  I am not however, a packrat.  No, I am a certified thrower-awayer.  That's what my husband calls me.  I hate clutter, so I am constantly de-cluttering.  I throw away, and then, I throw away some more.  I like things neat and tidy--things might get a little dusty or need a quick vacuuming but most likely you won't find too many messy areas in my house.  It's just the way I am.  Therefore, I do not keep too many things--just a few very sentimental ones.  I usually manage to keep my little mementos for a few years and then it's either off to one of the kid's houses or to Good Will.  I always think someone else will benefit from my little treasures.  What can I say--I'm a giver.  This is said with a smile!

There are a couple of items though, yes, one or two that I can tell you about--one is a little tiny black Indian arrowhead.  It is one of my more valuable treasures.  I will never give it away.  I was 17 years old when I received it from a little boy who lived on an Indian reservation.  I went to help out and work with children the summer before my senior year of high school.  That year my life was changed forever, it's where I met and fell in love with my husband.  That particular Indian reservation will always hold a special place in my heart.  Anyway, we were both attending a camp where we were working with kids when I met a certain little boy, he was around 5 or 6 years old.  We became fast friends and soon we were inseparable--he followed me everywhere.  At the end of that week, he presented me with a little gift--it was the arrowhead.  I cried a little, he hugged me tight and I never saw him again.  I went back the next year, but he was nowhere to be found.  40 years later that little arrowhead still rests in my jewelry box.  I look at it often and remember that cute little boy.  I wonder sometimes if he ever thinks of me.

Another one of my prized possessions is something my husband found for me when we were still dating.  We were walking along a beach in northern California when he spotted something on the sand.  He bends down to pick it up and then handed it to me.  It was a perfect little sand-dollar the size of a dime.  I still have it, it's laying next to my arrowhead.  Two precious little memories tucked away just for me.  I thought I should mention them since they are of great value to me.

I know it seems a little silly that after all these years I still have those two little gifts, probably worth nothing to some but worth everything to me.  I would part with almost any other earthly possession before parting with one of those two items.  I guess I am even more sentimental than I thought.  I realize the older I get that some things can easily be replaced, while others--those attached to memories, can't.  These are my memories though, I'm sure that when I pass on and my kids or grandchildren are going through my things, they'll wonder--why did she keep this, or why was that so important to her?  That's why writing all this down is helpful to me.  The writing keeps those memories alive.  At least for me.

I have so many memories now to write about--well over 50 years of them, all tucked away until now.  Until the writing began.  Now, they are tumbling out--sometimes fast, and sometimes slowly.  Funny how it works that way.  I wonder why some come to mind quicker than others?  And why do I have to wait ever so patiently for others to surface?  It's interesting to me--I ponder those questions often.  My memories now, along with this blog have become my keepsakes.  As each little story or thought or memory surface, I write about it.  Each and every one.  They are my keepsakes now, sweet memories along with a few little treasures mixed in just to keep things interesting.

My tiny arrowhead and sand-dollar

Boy in the Basement

Let me set the scene--imagine a very small old fashioned church, in a very small old fashioned town.  This particular little church just happened to have a basement.  And in the basement were several rooms.  One being a kitchen, and also there was a "fellowship" hall, a classroom, and a storage room.  We used to hold our ladies Bible study down in that basement.  We were able to make extra rooms by using an accordion type door, it was perfect for small discussion groups, etc.

So, one day as the ladies of my Bible study entered the basement to set up for the morning, something a little out of the ordinary happened.  One of my friends went into the small storage area to grab some supplies and let out a little shriek.  We all came running--thinking possibly a mouse maybe?  Something small like that.  However, what we found wasn't a mouse at all.  No, it was a boy, or should I say, young man.  I'm guessing he was somewhere in the 18 to 20-year-old range.  He seemed like a mere boy to me at the time, as my own boys were almost his age.  And being a mom, I didn't like to think of my own children as growing up.

My friends, understandably, were a bit shaken up.  He looked disheveled and outright scary.  The ladies began to back out of the room, however, I did not.  My heart immediately connected to him, just as if he were one of my own.  There is no other way to explain it, I wasn't afraid of him, nor was I afraid of what he might have hidden in his scruffy duffel bag.  In fact, I didn't notice what the others did, I didn't even realize that as I was talking to him, he was clutching that duffle closely to his chest.

He was so afraid, so dirty, so desperate.  There was no way that I was going to let him leave without making sure that he was OK.  That was the mom in me.  I felt the need to care for him, to make sure that he had a place to sleep, something to eat, and clean clothes.  As I began to talk with him in a kindly manner, he slowly began to open up.  He told me that he had crawled in through the window, he was cold.  He had wrapped some old tarps around himself to keep warm.  His mother had kicked him out due to drug use.  The more he told me, the more I felt that God had brought him to our little church for a reason.

I stood in that little storage room for a long time talking with that boy.  He said that I reminded him of his mother, that he missed her and that he wanted to go home but was afraid that she wouldn't let him in.  I told him how I would feel if my son came home and asked me to forgive him, promised me he'd stay away from drugs and would get cleaned up.  He was sure that she'd never agree.  He was not only heartbroken for what he'd become, he was broken period.  His very spirit was broken.  I could see all this in him as we talked.  My friends were waiting in the room next to ours, I could sense them praying for me as I spoke with this boy.  I wanted so badly for him to make things right with his mom.  I wanted him to be able to go home and to be safe.

After a while I asked him if he was hungry, he said yes.  I gave him money for breakfast and then invited him to come to church on Sunday.  You can sit with me and my family, I said.  You won't be alone.  I then encouraged him to go home, ask his mother for forgiveness and then, get clean and sober.  I told him that I would help any way possible.  And that I would be praying for him.  I also gave him my phone number.

That, unfortunately, was the very last time I saw the young man.  However, to this day, I still think of him and when I do, I pray for him.  God knows where he is, God knows and is taking care of him for me.  I truly believe that with all my heart.  That He protected that boy and that he eventually got his act together.  That is my hope.

The fallout from that little adventure surprised me though.  I have to include it in the story, for without it, the account of the past would not be complete.  You see, I guess I did not follow protocol.  I was told later by the leaders of our little church that I should have immediately called the police.  That the boy had broken into our church and that he could have had a gun in his duffle bag.  I, by not calling the police, endangered the lives of the other women in the room.  I was completely dumbfounded by this statement.  I truly was.  I wanted to know--since when do we as Christians rely on our human responses to handle situations?  Since when do we not rely on the Holy Spirit to guide and direct us?  These were my questions.  Since when?  And if you know me at all, you know that I am one of the most cautious people out there.  I am a door locking, backseat car checking, close the drapes at night type of person you'd ever want to meet.  I am not naive when it comes to reading people, I am not trusting by nature, especially of strange people hiding in a basement!  I am also the mom that practically tattooed be careful on her children's foreheads.  In other words--it wasn't like me at all to feel so comfortable with that young man.  However, I felt a peace about talking with him and helping him.  I truly felt God leading me and protecting me.  And, truthfully I wasn't about to let anyone change my mind.  In my opinion, I had made the right decision by not calling the police.  In fact, that thought had never entered my mind.

I will say this now--my heart was so broken and sad by the responses of those so called leaders, those people that we had placed in authority, those we depended on to pray!  No, in retrospect I would not have called the police, I would not have handled the situation any differently.  I followed the leading of my God.  The God who goes after the one lost sheep, the God who feeds the poor, the God who heals the brokenhearted, the God who is love, compassion, and who gives us hope, the God who died for me and everyone else.  No, my kindness to that boy in the basement was driven by a force so much greater than myself.  To me, what I saw was a poor damaged, broken, shattered little boy, hovering in the dark, cold, hungry, and needing his mom.  That's what I saw.  That's what I felt.  Maybe the others saw something different.  Maybe.

So today as with many other days in the past, I will take the time to pray for that boy from long ago, who was found in the basement by a lady who did not call the police, who gave him money for food and who invited him to church.  Today I will pray that as the years went by, he found his way home and is now worshiping his God, in a church somewhere.  Maybe his mother is sitting next to him.  Yes, I certainly want to think that is the case.

I serve a mighty God.  One who heals.  One who saves.  One who answers prayer.  I believe with all of my heart that that boy in the basement was brought to us for a reason.  Yes, I truly do.  I learned something that day--I learned that no matter what others say or think, my job on this earth is to go by what I feel God is telling me to do.  I trust Him.  He will protect me.  He always has and I know He always will.

A Day at the Beach

I have a new obsession.  Going to the beach.  I can honestly say that I have not spent much time at a beach or pool as far as floating on a raft or sunbathing goes in over a decade.  However, a miracle has occurred.  And what might that be, you ask?  I've lost weight.  Plain and simple.  I no longer feel horribly fat.  In fact, I purchased a new swimsuit the other day--the first one I've bought in about 15 years.  And I bought shorts!  3 pair!  Really!

In our last house in California, we had a pool.  It was very pretty, with a rock waterfall on one end.  There were 3 levels of water noise--one was a babbling brook sound, but I don't remember what the other 2 were called, oh wait, one might have been called waterfall, duh!  What I do remember though is floating on my raft and soaking up the sun--drifting, dreaming, tanning.  It felt like a vacation day every day.  I loved that pool.  One day after we sold our house and moved to the Midwest I was in Costco when all of a sudden I was hit with an overwhelming nostalgic feeling--I smelled chlorine and was transported right back to my home in California.  I was depressed for several days after that quasi-pool encounter.  It's hard to explain, but it really did happen.  The smells, the sadness, the longing for my past.  Those big ol' pallets of pool supplies almost brought me to tears.  The smell of chlorine, the memories of my pool, floating on my raft, yelling at my kids (for all sorts of pool violations) and poolside b-b-q's--yes, the tears almost came.  I had to remind myself though that I was out in public, so I pulled myself together and decided to avoid Costco until pool season was over.

Back to my obsession--why have I avoided all things pool inspired over the last decade?  In a word--self-conscienceness.  I was very overweight and felt extremely ugly.  I was unhappy with what I had become.  And, I had no one to blame but myself.  I ate because I was lonely, bored, friendless and because my kids were growing up and moving out.  My life as I once knew it was changing rapidly and I could not get off that awful roller coaster of emotional upheaval no matter how hard I tried.  I did try, believe me.  I tried every diet known, but after losing a few pounds something would happen to trigger my bad eating habits and there I would go again--cookies and candy--my biggest downfall.  Emotional eater you wonder?  Again, duh!

When we moved to the Chicagoland area a couple of years ago, it got even worse.  Now I was far away from everyone--friends and family, church and work friends, kids and grandkids--there was no one to talk to, no one to go places with and food became, once again, my only friend.  However, last year on October 1, 2011, I had an epiphany.  I've already written about it so I won't go into it again.  I am now 35 pounds lighter, I exercise regularly (and that word wasn't even in my vocabulary before) and I eat a low carb diet.

Enter the beach phenomenon.  I was shown the man-made beach area by our realtor even before we bought our house.  Our realtor proudly took us to this huge man-made pool/beach right in the middle of town.  It is big, I mean big!  With real sand, diving boards, a slide--chairs, tables, umbrellas and b-b-q's.  This thing looks and sounds like a real live beach, and it's just across the river from--guess where?  That's right, my new house.  For 2 years I avoided it.  When friends and family came to visit I made excuses not to go there.  Let's just say that I kept them real busy sight seeing so as to steer clear of that place altogether.  No one was going to see me in a swimsuit--no one!

And then came the weight loss.  One day while driving past the beach I had a thought--maybe I could go there now!  I went home and pulled out my 15-year-old swim suits, tried them on and was completely shocked--they were all too big!  They hung on me.  So, off to the mall, I went.  I bought a new suit, some shorts, and why stop there?  How about a new beach towel (or 2) and what about a couple of cute new beach chairs, and oh there's a fun little beach cabana!  Yes, I was on a roll--after taking off a few!  A beach roll.  A new and exciting time of my life was about to begin and off to the beach/pool we went.  Wow, it was amazing.  I laid in the sun, I read my Kindle, I felt the water on my skin, and I remembered what it used to be like in my own pool.  For the first time in over 12 years I was actually laying out in a swimming suit with other people around me, and I wasn't trying desperately to hide.  It truly was a miracle for this self-diagnosed wack a- doodle person with a poor body image!

Life for me is now a little bit better.  Ok, it's a whole lot better with the beach in my life.  I am loving it. No more worrying about how fat I look.  Now, I go a couple of times a week, and I pretend that I am on vacation somewhere exotic.   I hold hands with my boyfriend/husband, I read, I eat my low carb lunch out of my new little beach cooler, I lay on my new beach towel while wearing my new swimsuit, I get my tan and feel like a million bucks!  Yes, it's a whole lot better now.

No, I am not the youngest, hottest thing out there, but I never was.  I am, however, healthy and having a blast.  After avoiding this awesome beach/pool for 2 years, I am making up for lost time.  I am excited about this new little discovery of mine.  And who knows, it might be just the thing I need to inspire me each year to stay on my low carb diet and to keep working out.  That little ol' first day at the beach might be what keeps me on the straight and narrow.  My next adventure will be braving the beaches of Lake Michigan.  Yes, one day you might see me there, toting my beach cabana, new chair and cooler, sporting my new suit and shorts, new beach towel flung over my shoulder.  Yep, a day at the beach--that's what is so sweet about my life right now.

I Won't Hide

It is no secret that I am a Christian.  I have never hidden it, I never will.  However, in making that statement, I am fully aware that a lot of others profess the same as I and yet...they are nothing like me.  So what makes me different?  In my opinion, it is what I stand for.  It is what I believe in.  It is what I live for and live out that sets me and others like me apart.  It is not what I am standing against, but it is what I am standing for.   Are you reading between the lines here?

For example, I stand for my belief in God, His son Jesus, and the Bible.  No secret there.  I stand for my husband and family, for true friendship, for love, acceptance, and forgiveness.  That's a big one.  Forgiveness.  You might wonder, who does she have to forgive?  Well, that's my business and something not to be shared in this particular venue, but believe me, when I say--I have forgiven those who have deeply hurt or condemned me.  I had to, and I was told to--by God.  And so I did.  It wasn't easy, in most cases I had to swallow my pride, but as with anything worth doing or having, being a person with a forgiving heart is worth it--for my own spiritual well-being.

What else do I stand for?  Well, I stand for godliness.  This love, God's love is extended to all people of all nations.  It's simple for me--love your neighbor as yourself.  Simple.  Be willing to lay your life down for a brother.  Be the way that God intended.  Kind, gentle, loving...is it really that hard?

What I don't want to do as a Christian, as a believer, as a follower of Christ is to stand against something.  Wait, let me explain--I want to have and to live a life that is for something.  I want to live for God, for all things that are good, for love, and for holiness.  I don't want to waste my time or God's for that matter worrying about the things that I can't change.  I want to spend my time thinking and praying about the things that God can and does change.  And guess what?  I know someone--I know the One who changes things!  It's not me, I can't change a thing.  However, I serve someone who can.  As I pray, as I seek God, as I worship Him, as I lean on Him, I wait and I watch.  As He changes the important aspects of and in my life and in the lives of others--He changes this sinful heart of mine into something He can love and be proud of and He does this very patiently.  He is after all--my father.  Come to think of it--He stands for me!

Do I ever get impatient?  Of course, I do--I am the human one.  The one who fails, the one who is weak, the one who is needy, the one who cries out to her God, the one who can do absolutely nothing without her God.  Yes, that is me--in a nutshell.  The human.  I am the one who stands for God my creator.

Why would I hide who I truly am?  Why would I be ashamed of who I love with all of my heart, soul, and mind?  I don't see others hiding their beliefs or life choices.  In all sources of media--others display their lives, their values, their beliefs.  So, in my own little world of media--i.e. my blog, I will declare mine.  I will set my heart and eyes on God.  I will be patient, hopeful, trusting, loving and kind.  I will endeavor to be like the God I serve.  Oh, I will fail.  You can be sure of that--but I will try and when I do fail, I will ask to be forgiven.  He's just that kind of a loving God.  Just like He says He is.  And He will forgive me and let me try again and again.  I will try to walk in the footsteps of His son Jesus.  I will not act hateful, vengeful, selfish, mean or judgmental.  No, I will not.  So, if you ever see me behaving in that manner, I hope and I pray that you gently correct me.  And remember this, if you ever need me, just ask, I will be there for you.  No matter what you believe in, or whom you believe in, I will be there.  A friend.  A pray-er.  A sister.  A follower of Christ.  I will not judge you or condemn you.  I will just pray to the One who has the answers to all of your questions.  The One I stand for.

If God is love then why should I be hate?  I want to be there for the friendless, the hopeless, the broken.
I want to be the person that others can come to with questions about life and about God.  I want to be that friend.  The one who stands for something--something sweet, something kind, something godly.  I guess the bottom line is this--I want others to know what I stand for by my actions and deeds even before I tell them.

This is what I stand for and I won't hide.

Grandma Crybaby

I think if my kids could change my name, they would call me grandma crybaby.  Why?  Because every time my kids leave our house with their kids or every time we leave their house--I cry.  No, not the heart-wrenching sobs that some people make, mine are a silent cry.  The cry of a grandmother's heart is broken a little more each time she is separated from her grandchildren.

Who would have thought it possible?  To love someone so much, that your heart actually hurts?  When I had my children it was unfathomable for me to think that far into the future--to the land of grandchildren.  I was too busy raising my children to think of them having their own one day.  I was a busy mom with much to do and I had lots on my mind.  Thinking into the future wasn't a part of that thought process.  Just getting by with day to day living kept me occupied.

I should have guessed it would happen, however, because when their father and I would go away for a little getaway or anniversary weekend, I would miss them--terribly.  I would be so excited for some much needed time away and then once there within just a couple of days I would feel my emotions get the best of me and the tears would start.  Slowly, running down my cheeks, hiding behind sunglasses--missing my children.  My husband would then know that it was time to head back towards home and my babies.  So, I ask you--why oh why would I not have those same feelings for my grandbabies?  You know, that I miss them so much feeling, that my heart is breaking feeling when they (or I) pull out of the driveway?  I guess I should have known that I would love them just as much, and miss them even more.

Eventually, my little kiddos grew up.  I managed that pretty well, I tried hard to get used to the whole empty nest thing (which sucks by the way) and then one day they had children themselves.  Yep, grandkids.  I was hoping that I'd be immune to those same old emotions.  You know, the attachment emotions.  The crybaby emotions, the ones that feel like your heart is being ripped in two every time you have to say goodbye.  I hate goodbyes.  Sometimes I wish they'd all sneak off in the night.  I'd wake up to an empty house and I could pretend they had just gone to the store or something.  No, I wouldn't want that either.  I need to say goodbye.  I guess I need closure.  I guess I'm one of those.  A crybaby grandma who needs that last hug before the final car pack up and then heading for home.

Yes, I am grandma crybaby.  It's hard on me.  I feel so sad when I'm not around my little grandkids more often.  I have 5 so far--I'm praying for more.  Why?  Because I have never known such joy as when I am with them--just talking with them, or rocking them, snuggling, singing or reading to them--my little ones, I love them.  They are the joy of my life.  And, when I think about it, maybe I wouldn't know that joy the way I know it now if it weren't for the fact that I get to see them only every few weeks.  I think that maybe, just maybe, I appreciate them a little bit more.  Sometimes I think about what my life would be like without them--how empty it would feel and I am grateful then for every moment I get to spend with them.   I think to myself--at least I have grandkids or kids for that matter.  I guess I should be thankful.  And I am.  Very thankful.  So, I'll sit here and cry and miss my little grandchildren and hope that they one day they might feel the same way about me.

grandbabies at the beach

My Niece's Wedding

I knew before I even went that it was going to be a tough night.  A beautiful night to be sure, but a rough one for me, my parents, my sister and her children.  I knew that it would be hard.  And it was.  As my tears flowed, I could not help but think of my two nephews who were missing.  Who were in heaven, who were not there to participate, to make us laugh, and smile and to make her special day unforgettable.  No, they were not there.

I wondered--what should I do, what could I do to make things easier, less emotional for them and for me?  You see, I am a big fat crybaby.  I hate that about myself.  That inability to control my tears.  It's very frustrating, to say the least.  So, I thought to myself--why not spend a few days in Monterey/Carmel first and then head on over to the valley to attend the wedding.  That, I thought, just might help me cope a little bit better.  I knew that my sister would be extremely busy with wedding plans, so that's just what we did.  We landed in San Francisco and then drove on down the coast.  We stayed in a nice hotel, shopped, ate out and I tried hard not to think about the wedding and who would not be attending.

The actual day of the wedding I made plans with friends.  I didn't want to talk about the upcoming wedding.  I just wanted to visit, to laugh, to talk about other things.  I think our friends got the picture, they were very gracious and helped keep our minds off things.  Diversion, that's exactly what it was and it did help.  So I thanked them very much.  I needed them at the moment.  Throughout the day I'd pray for my sister and niece, for God to comfort them, give them strength, help them not to dwell on reality.  I wanted them to focus on the wedding, the happiness, the joy.

We picked my parents up late that afternoon.  It was an outdoor wedding, next to a beautiful little lake, with the chairs and altar under great big old oak trees.  The weather that had been a scorching 106 degrees the weekend before had settled nicely into a comfortable 80 degrees just in time for the celebration.  My prayers had been answered, that's for sure!  I hate hot weather, I am extremely susceptible to heat exhaustion and have a slight phobia of passing out in public places.  Geez, do you think that's ever happened to me before?  Um, yes.

As the bridesmaids and groomsmen began to appear, I felt that prickly sensation behind my eyes.  Do not cry, I told myself.  But, where are my nephews, I also asked?  They should be here.  I was able to focus on the wedding, pull myself together and block out the pain.  I watched the attendants all take their places, I watched as my sister and my niece's father walked her down the aisle, and I watched as she and her new husband exchanged their vows.  It was a short wedding.  Sweet, full of laughter, and a few tears and then it was over.  We then filed into the huge beautifully decorated renovated barn and the reception began.

I kept thinking to myself--we made it!  Not too many tears, not too much emotion, everyone seems to be doing great and having a good time.  I was so relieved.  And then, yes, and then, they did something that is common in a lot of wedding receptions nowadays.  They showed the video.  You know, the one of them growing up.  Well, guess who is in the growing up pictures of my niece?  That's right, her brothers.  And that's when I lost it.  The tears began to flow.  I could not help myself.  I felt so bad because the wedding parties' table was right behind ours.  I did not want my sister or my niece to see me crying.  I didn't want them to start crying.  I was an emotional basket-case, to say the least.  I wanted to excuse myself and pull myself together, but I felt trapped.  Everyone was so engrossed in the videos, to leave would have drawn even more attention to myself.  So there I was--stuck, crying, grieving for the nephews who weren't at the wedding, who weren't in line with the groomsmen, who weren't sitting at the table behind me with their little sister whom they loved so much.

Finally, it was over.  Before the lights came back on I composed myself--along with everyone else in the room.  It seems that we were all thinking the same thing.  We missed the boys.  They should have been there.  They were truly missed that night.  With their beautiful little sister getting married, they should have been there.

The toasts started then.  The best man, the matron of honor, the parents, some friends, they all got up to speak about my niece and her new husband. They said some very sweet heartfelt things.  And now, confession time for me.  I wanted to say something too.  However, I didn't want to speak to them, I wanted to pray over them.  I wanted to lay a hand on each of their shoulders and pray for God's protection, guidance, direction, and love.  I thought it might be a little out of place though, so I did and said nothing.  Instead, I smiled after each toast and raised my glass to the beautiful newlyweds.

I did pray though.  Later.  In private.  I prayed hard and I am still praying.  I pray for her and her remaining brother every day just like I do my own children.  I pray that God draws them closer to Him each day, I pray that God protects them, and I pray that they live a life that honors Him in all they do.

I miss my nephews.  Both of them.  They died too young.  They should have been at the wedding for their sister.  For their mother.  However, for some reason that I am not privy to, God had other plans for them.  Am I sad about that fact?  Yes, I am.  However, I do not question God's plans or ways.  I hope and pray that my family doesn't either.  I hope and pray that they felt God's presence at the wedding, and that with each passing year they grow to trust Him more and more.  That is my prayer for my niece, her new husband, my nephew, my sister and my own children.  Just trust God.  Just lean into Him.  Because even though my 2 nephews were not physically there to celebrate their sister getting married, they were in our hearts all the same.  We felt them.  At least I did.  I imagined them smiling, happy, dancing at their sister's wedding, just like they are doing in heaven.  Yes, I truly believe that.  I do.

Grandpa and Grandma

Bridesmaids

Groomsmen

My niece and her groom

My nephew

The happy couple

My husband Jerry and I

My niece and her new husband

My nephew

My sister

Bride and groom

Grandma and grandpa with the newlyweds