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St. Francis



One day I'll get around to why I have this connection to St. Francis...
Trust me though, it's pretty awesome.

It's February 19, 2014 and I'm finally getting back to this...

My maternal grandfather, who I was closest to and felt a bond with more than any other family member (or anyone for that matter) was named Francis... Francis Reid Barton.

I love(d) him more than words can express.  I felt completely and unconditionally loved by him.

When he died I felt such heartache and loss.

He passed away from cancer when I was 20.

As I sit and type this I can barely get through because my eyes are overflowing with tears.

I still miss him soo much.

But I believe wholeheartedly I'll see him again.

During every difficult struggle or happiest moment in my life I've felt him with me.  I'm never ever looking for it.... I'll just all of a sudden realize he's there... like if I looked over my shoulder there he'd be.

The times I've probably felt him the strongest were while I was on my mission and when I lost my baby.  It's odd because the day I figured out something was wrong with my pregnancy I'd felt him close by throughout that afternoon.  And I couldn't really put anything together.  Then later when I realized something was very wrong I knew why he was there.  And he stayed with me throughout the next few days till I woke up in the hospital... and then he was gone.  And I knew my baby was with him, that he was taking care of him and all would be well.

It's not only this, but many times throughout my life I'll suddenly become very aware of his presence.  
And so the name Francis has always held a special place in my heart.

When I was a little girl my grandparents lived a street over from their dear friends they'd had for years... they'd lived close by each other in Salt Lake, then when they all moved to southern Utah where it was warm they built homes close to each other.  Their friends were more like family... more like a dear old aunt and uncle... Mary and Jack.

None of them were LDS... not my grandparents or Mary and Jack.  I think they all were at one time, but maybe only baptized.

I spent a lot of time at Mary and Jacks.  I'd skip across the little field almost everyday to visit them.

The homes where they all lived were very much a southwest Spanish style... and Mary had a courtyard in hers.  In the courtyard was a mound of Ivy with a statue in the middle... a statue of St. Francis with birds.  I LOVED that statue!  I love birds!  And it's one of the reasons why I was always hesitant to get a cat... I knew it would kill me if/when they ever killed a bird.

I always felt a specialness with St. Francis.  Mary would tell me stories about him, about why he was made the patron saint of birds, animals and nature.  And so I think of him as my saint.  And because I've always felt like my Pa was my guardian angeI guess I've meshed the two together.

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