This past week I have been wading through piles and piles of papers from my parents. I've emptied a couple of large tubs! It's been fun and sad at the same time. I've learned a lot about both sides of my family that I never knew before. If you ever want to read some of the things I found feel free to let me know. I have it pretty organized into a couple of books now, one for the Well's and one for the Rendahl's.

I thought I would share one story that my Uncle Stanley (your Grandpa Rendahl's older brother) wrote. I will share the story first and then give you the background. This is a true story.

"There were no neighbors to call; there were no telephones yet. No one would hear her voice no matter how loud she screamed now that the Indians were gone. Her husband could not be reached. She had only one alternative and that was to pray. In that isolated spot she began to talk to the God she loved. All that day the Lord had her attention and heard her pleadings.

She did what she could in the garden and in the log house but her voice kept bombarding the heavenly throne. As dusk began to cover the island she spread her apron on the long log bench they had set near the lake shore, close to the water, as if to wait for guests. She continued to pray, 'Dear God bring my baby back.' Before the sun had completely set a canoe appeared on the horizon and then came directly to her inlet. The one at the oars lifted the paddles and let the canoe slide up on the shore. His companion stepped over the edge holding a bundle cautiously in his arms. When his feet reached dry ground he ran to the play-pen and carefully put the blond girl in the place from which she had been taken. He petted the top of the little girls head and ran back to his friend.

The mother sat in a bewildered silence until the dark skinned visitors had left and the girl began to cry, 'mama.' Her tear stained and worried voice could only say, 'Thank you dear Lord.'"

This is a story of my grandmother when she was a baby. My great-grandparents came from Sweden and settled on one of the islands in Minnesota. My great-grandfather rowed a boat into the nearest town each day to work. My great-grandmother was home alone with their baby girl, my grandmother. There were Indians living close by and they had never seen a child with white skin and blonde hair. So they paddled over, took her back to their home for everyone to see, and then brought her back. I can only imagine the terror in my great-grandmother's heart and mind when this happened. I am so thankful my grandmother was returned or none of us would be here today!

~Mom