I couldn't pass up the chance to tell my ESA sisters here and across America what ESA means to me.
I live in a small town called Wheatland, in Wyoming. With a population of less than five-thousand, you can imagine the opportunities for a stay-at-home mom to socialize are rather limited. My salvation came in the form of my now seven year old son, Cody.
In 1995, Cody participated in the ESA Bike-a-Thon. He was only five at the time, but he rode his little legs off, biking 35 miles, and bringing in the most donations for St. Jude's. His grand prize was a brand new bicycle, and the look of joy on his face was the most wonderful sight!
It was there, at the awards presentation that I met the women who would change my out-look and my life, my future ESA sisters. With Charlene Busk as my sponsor, I've embarked on a new chapter of life, full of new friends, new purpose, and laughter all around. My sweet husband, Bob, put in over-time at work, just so he could hand me the registration fee. Believe me, the tears that night were of happiness and love for a man who understood that being a part of ESA was important to me.
I've learned so much from my sisters. Through them I've learned about all the wonderful things ESA does. From their dedication to St. Judes, to their local work with the elderly, and St. Joseph's Children's Home, these women show a spirit of community and togetherness that is amazing.
These ladies share themselves unselfishly. They are willing to do what ever it takes to get the job done. And through it all they find time to include me in all the laughter and love of sister-hood that is uniquely ESA.
I am so proud to be able to say I'm part of ESA. The golden glow of a candle-lit room has touched my heart and changed my life forever. Thank you sisters, near and far, for including me in your generous circle of love.
What ESA Means to Me
Seattle, WA 1999
Its beastly hot, like it usually is during the last week in July. I have little beads of sweat slipping down my spine as I crouch next to the trailer, taking my turn at emptying the black container that holds the wastewater. As I lean forward, enjoying the cool breeze that's come out of nowhere in Wheatland this afternoon, I rest my forehead against the side of the trailer, listening to the life within its tin walls.
Laughter. The usually high-pitched, but sometimes low murmuring of women's laughter. It makes me smile, even though I don't know what this particular story is, or what the joke is about. The fact of the matter is, they're laughing. As they do so much of the time. Women. Together. Sharing their lives with other women. Laughter and tears.
These women, who spend so much of their time helping others. Arranging bike-a-thons and math-a-thons for children with the worst disease possible. Children who's futures may not be filled with the laughter I hear coming from inside. Making up baskets of food or necessities for the elderly. Aged women, who's lives have taken a turn they never expected. Turns that have taken the laughter from their lives. Shopping for Birthday presents for children that might not otherwise get presents. Just to see the glimmer of laughter in a young child's eyes. That's what these women are all about.
I close my eyes and see each one of their faces. So dear to my heart. The faces of women that think nothing of spending their afternoons baking cookies, hundreds of them, just so they can turn around and sell them. Sell them so that someone else might live to laugh another day. The faces of women that become so suddenly serious when faced with a new challenge. Those same faces lit with laughter when they figure out a way to meet that challenge.
My heart gives a little lurch and I smile, shaking my head, that these women have taken me into their circle of laughter. Their circle of loving and caring. Their circle of working and sharing. Their circle of LIFE.
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