The clouds are hanging low this morning, dancing upon the mountains.  On our walk to Ty's house this morning Maleck and I searched for big foot tracks.  The tulips were laughing and the birds were singing their morning song.  Suddenly the words from a childhood song fell from my lips,  " he gave me my eyes that I might see the color of butterfly wings, he gave my ears that I might hear the magical sound of things...."  Oh how our Heavenly Father loves us...  and then of course he gave us our mothers


Generations
by Amyanne Rigby

Her hands tell her story: The wrinkles speak of years of service rendered to those she loved; of a belief in God whom she served endlessly, and  of the countless small acts of service that have wound themselves into a ball creating her legacy.  On the day she held my Emma’s hand, I realized the significance of a moment.  It is fleeting.  It is a millisecond of laughter sprinkled by  tears and crowned with joy.
One worn hand tracing nearly a century of experience and wisdom clasping tenderly a small hopeful hand.  If one could gain knowledge through osmosis, I wish her hands could teach my Emma’s what it means to live and to live well.
It is through those hands that we have  learned to smile, to laugh, and to dance through the moments of life.

I wrote this piece for my husband's grandmother, Zina Lunt Rigby. Not only did she teach me how to laugh but  she taught me so much about what it means to be a strong woman and a loving mother.  I miss her!