I wasn’t expecting anyone to speak to me that morning at the public library.  We were brand new to the rural Nebraska town and hadn’t really met anyone yet, still living out of boxes in our small rental duplex.  Hadn’t even taken a shower or brushed my teeth that morning, if I remember right.  Because it was one of those days when I just needed to escape from the confines of the house last minute before I lost my sanity, even though it meant manhandling two infant car seats, a double-stroller, a bulging diaper bag, and 9-month-old twins.

Had just walked into that brick building with glass-domed ceiling, and having never been there before, was looking around curiously, trying to locate the children’s book section.  So I didn’t even see her at first, but heard someone calling my name.  “Julie?!?  Are you Julie LeFeber?  Your husband’s the new band teacher in town?”  And I looked and saw a tall woman with yellow hair, smiling widely and walking toward me with her two young girls.  She chatted, all friendly, and gave me her phone number, wanted mine too.  Said we should get together sometime.  And I walked out of the library that day lighter than when I’d gone in.  I figured maybe she was just being polite.

But no.  She called later that week and asked if my girls and I would want to come out to their farm for the morning, stick around for lunch too.  And so, wanting to make a good impression, I woke up early to shower and blow dry my hair, put on make-up and my cutest ‘no-longer-pregnant-but-body-forever-altered’ clothes, hoping to project an aura of confidence I didn’t feel in the least.

Steve’s mental illness, food and feasting, full house with people everywhere, mess, beauty, grace…

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