The faith of a woman...

There was a woman I once knew.  Our friendship was an odd one.  She thought I was an angel.  And her strength in her conviction, her passionate faith had me believing maybe it was true.  I knew better of course, and I even protested, but she would argue with such eloquence.  backing it up with fact, dates, times, ideas, and firmly grounded in faith... I had to wonder.  Maybe I was an angel sent on a mission, maybe I did have a purpose, and a reason.  This woman was an unlikely friend.  I easily could have been her great granddaughter.

I wanted to be what she believed I was.  I wanted to be her angel.  She thought I was sent to her family, and even though I knew I was not, her faith really made me wonder.  A child of God.  A precious hand picked angel for her family.  I would get upset at her protesting until she would have me soothed and comforted.  She just knew.  I have never met anyone who could literally be that close to both sides of the veil at the same time.

I moved to the desert and was having a hard time with a rash decision I had made at the time based purly on the bases of my faithfulness to the doctrine of the church.  I did everything I was asked.  I took on every challenge head long.  I walked the walk, talked the talk, I read my scriptures daily... this was suppose to be my reward... and it was not.  It was far from it.  I cooked, and cleaned, and I got my dream job along the way.  Every step she adored me, and was always there to chat with.  She was a safe, calm voice, to heal my tired heart.  She was my friend when I did not think I had any.

This woman, this wonderful, and godly angel herself passed away.  It tears my heart apart.  I weep at my loss of her even though I had not talked with her in nearly 2 years.  She meant more to me then she should have, she was not my kin... she was my friend.  She never gave up the assurances of her conviction. 


I began to believe her, if only for a little while.  I will miss you Grandma Willard.  You were the kindest, most wonderful person.  A strong and stubborn old woman who I will forever look up to and love forever more.  May the Lord bless your journey, and may you keep busy teaching, loving, and building your Mansion in the city and your cottage in the country.

The history of a painter...

Since writing the last blog, I found out more to the puzzle. 

The painter's name was Robert Faust.

  In the symbol of his mark to sign the photo, it is a R and a F in a circle.

  The man I got this from happens to be the brother to the painter. 

He just lost his brother 2 years ago to cancer.  

Robert was a teacher.

He did many portraits in the near by communities that have long since been painted over. 

He was an art teacher in San Diego once upon a time, before he finally gave it up one day to paint full time.

  Robert's brother works for NASA in their graphics department.  

A bond of brothers, with an appreciative eye.  

Robert's brother delighted in the idea of one of his brother's paintings still being out there.  So did I.  He has kept quite a many of his brother's pieces of artwork, lovingly set aside for his family.  I was right, he was a local, raised as a child in these parts...born roughly in the 60's I assume.  So much raced in my mind during that short conversation... so many things I dared not ask.  Like how old was he when he passed, what year was he born, did he have children, or do you think he could have taught me how to paint?  What did his students think of him?  His co-workers?  His wife? His children?  Did he have pets?  When did he first start to paint? Is their mother still living? Where is he buried? What is your favorite memory of him? Your hardest?

For some reason it did not sadden  me that he was gone.  Instead it invigorated me and excited me greatly that the artist had left a wondrous legacy behind. A piece of art even the family had forgotten about. And now they were going to go back and recapture what was lost, and glean from it the very essence of the artist that I had felt.  It made perfect sense to me then why it touched me so deeply, why I wanted to know who the painter was so fiercely. It was not for me.  It was for a brother already passed who wanted to see his living brother again.  A sort of calling card, and I got to be the messenger.  How I would delight in being a fly upon the wall when the brother from NASA arrives, and what he has to say both spoken aloud, and in the silence of his mind to Robert.  And I know Robert will undoubtedly be listening.  I find it interesting that I did not think I could love the painting anymore then I already did, until now. How the pieces of the puzzle are still in motion...a ripple effect going out.  Where will the momentum go? I will never know.  Maybe the brother will start a blog of Robert's art in memory of his brother.  Maybe the blog will be made into a book.  Maybe the book will awe and inspire a nation.  A man gone from this earth, but not hardly forgotten.  We all walk this road, and I have to wonder... what will I leave behind?

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I want to write a book. Something someone else would delight in reading.  If only for one person, and never to be published.  I want to leave a love of words in the hearts of all who read it.

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An Idea Is Born...