One day last month my daughter came home from school somewhat frantic. She told me that she thought her good friend, Shelby, was in the hospital. At the same time, she handed me a letter from the school stating that a student there may have meningitis. Over the next several days we waited for news that she would be alright. Everyone said prayers and everyone kept in touch. Three days later news came from a friend of mine that brought me to tears, tears of joy that is.

The night before I got the good news about Shelby had been a long one, but for reasons of my own. I had been awake for hours doing some wondering about the magazine. Had we delivered what we intended to? Had our readers sat back and relaxed with it for a few minutes? Had they enjoyed the photography? Had it transported them to a peaceful place? Had we been true to our mission of celebrating life on the water? My questions continued for some time that night. I was, of course, tired when I received the phone call that morning.

My friend told me that Shelby was indeed going to be alright! Everyone's prayers had been answered. She had been awake, had spoken a few words, and even did a little coloring the evening before. Late that night, finally able to relax after seeing her daughter's improvement, Shelby's mom sat alone. She had been at her daughter's bedside for several days. She was tired and lonely, and with Shelby's recent progress she could finally allow herself to feel those feelings. The nights at the hospital had gotten quite long. Everything seemed more intense. The lights,though dimmed, had that tiresome fluorescent quality. The hum of the hospital equipment had become glaringly apparent as it clicked along monitoring the life within those four, barren hospital walls. There were no other visitors; there was no chitchat, no laughter; only the quiet whispers of the hospital staff. At that point, she decided to head to the lobby to find something to read.

You can probably guess what she stumbled upon. She picked up a copy of Lakestyle about the same time that I had lain awake myself. She looked through the magazine and found familiar places, faces and names, and felt a little less lonely. Brief as this time may have been, it provided a respite. And that is exactly what we had hoped to accomplish. How our magazine made it down to south Minneapolis, onto a shelf in the hospital, and into the hands of Shelby's mom I'll never know. I guess it was meant to be!

Nancy Henke, Editor

P.S. I am happy to report that Shelby is doing very well and is even back at school!

By Nancy Henke