Story shared: Thanks to Linda for her contribution to humanity

Sat, 23 May 2015 00:25:48 EDT

I love reading the book " Interview with an Angel" written by Stevan and Linda.

Condolence From Stevan Thayer

Thu, 02 Jan 2014 13:22:17 EST

I recently did a process in which I had to identify the three people who had made the biggest difference in my life. Linda was one of these three. I met Linda in 1997 when she came to my office for an Integrated Energy Therapy session. Little did I know that she had brought an angel named Ariel with her for her session, or that Linda and I would become authors documenting Angel Ariel’s messages, or that our book “Interview with an Angel” would touch lives around the world. Linda’s passing is a deep personal loss to me as well as a loss to the world. One thing that Linda had always regretted is that while I could talk to Angel Ariel, she couldn’t. I am sure that Linda is now having many conversations with Angel Ariel and is perhaps nearing completion of a sequel to Interview with an Angel. Stevan Thayer

Condolence From Kathi Dunn

Thu, 02 Jan 2014 11:27:18 EST

One day a tough prospect called me at work to negotiate pricing on the design of a new book for her publishing company. She refused to reveal the title of the book for fear of someone stealing her idea. After a lengthy discussion, I felt sure this was going nowhere so, out of frustration, I blatantly told her that I couldn’t give her firm pricing without knowing more . . . but I promised that I would deliver my best work and that it would “knock her socks off.” There was silence and I was ready to let her go. Then she said calmly, “You are the person I am destined to work with on this project.” I was shocked. She opened up, let her hard edge down . . . and revealed that the title of her book was “Resumes that Knock Their Socks Off!” From that day, 20 years ago, Linda and I began creating and sharing and building a most-unlikely but legendary friendship. I grew to love her as a cherished flower in my garden among a few select friends whom I regard as my Sisters of the Heart. It feels as if our souls were intended to reunite in this lifetime. Destiny. In time, there was hardly a day in which Linda and I didn’t communicate by email, phone, or, more recently, via Skype and Facetime. We’d begun to sign off on our emails with “TBH&L” which was for “Teddy Bear Hugs and Love.” The first time she came to visit me in northern Wisconsin, Linda came off the plane with — what else? — a huge teddy bear, and she was laughing. You know, when Linda laughs, she also cries? I love that about her. Giggles then tears then giggles. Years ago, Linda and I met for several days at a spa in Minnesota. It was like a middle-school girls’ slumber party, our giggling into the wee hours. And we worked hard to learn new approaches to our fitness and wellness. Linda was dogged about her health and inspired me to make it a bigger priority. I know, you’re probably thinking: A lot of good that did her. But, you know what? We all got a bonus of two extra years with Linda because of her commitment to her personal health and her pursuit of alternative approaches to healing her illness. Two years ago JB was told to take her home, call hospice and get her affairs in order. I’ve never seen anyone so willing to try new things, so hopeful that one of those new things could change her outcome. Through it all, I believed in Linda. I knew at the depth of my being that she, of anyone I knew, could conquer this. And she would write her book entitled, “And They Were Wrong.” These last couple of years, I felt like an LSN cheerleader. I still do. Although I dearly miss our daily emails and phone chats, I feel Linda’s presence so strongly. Sometimes I awaken in the night and I hear Linda whispering, “You need to know I am fine. I am without pain. I am happy. I am content. And this place where I am is so beautiful.” Linda and I shared our most intimate secrets, we laughed about life and we cried about life. We could tell each other anything. I mean anything. And there was no judgement. What a rare gift that was. When Linda’s mother died, she called just to tell me. We didn’t exchange many words but there was a sense of comfort and knowing — something we both understood about how it feels to lose a mother. And, the quiet acceptance of it. This is what Sisters of the Heart do for each other. This is what we did for each other. Again and again. And we’d push each other to try new things. Linda blew me away when she, of Jewish faith, was curious and open enough to accept my invitation to attend our Christian-oriented Christmas Wassail dinner and concert. It was then that she became united with my family and loved also by my daughter and my husband. She’s a city girl, far from the outdoorsy northwoods girl I am, yet Linda totally embraced her adventures out to my little resort town in northern Wisconsin to hike the woods, explore islands on Lake Superior, and tube the wild rivers. She’d innocently ask if we should fear bears and I’d assure her we were safe. And she trusted me. She even trusted me to choose the paint colors for her new dining room, and the right backup system for her computer, and the prettiest new earrings, and the best recipe for her juicer. And I trusted her to guide me when I questioned my ability to make a wise decision. She helped me heal from chronic back pain by introducing me to new cutting-edge approaches. She listened and guided me when my heart ached over personal loss. And she bolstered me when I, her cheerleader, broke down mere weeks ago, telling her I didn’t want to lose her. She was like that. Always pouring her heart out. Always generous. Always there. Always. While celebrating the holidays in New York a few weeks ago with my family, my daughter pointed out a cuddly teddy bear in the pile of toys in our granddaughter’s playroom. She said that was the bear Linda sent when my granddaughter was born. Then she said that whenever my granddaughter plays with the bear they talk to her about Linda, Grandma’s friend, and how sweet it was that Linda gave her such a nice present. And so, the ripple effect of Linda’s love and generosity lives on. I see reminders of her every day. And I am so grateful. Thank you, JB, for sharing your sweet wife with me over all these years. Thank you, Linda, for sharing yourself with me.

Condolence From William C Barnes

Thu, 02 Jan 2014 11:26:31 EST

Linda was my publisher and one of my best friends. Since she published my book about a great ship. I respectfully offer this analogy: I am standing on the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength, and I stand and watch her until at length she stands like a speck of white cloud just where the sky and sea seem to mingle with each other. Then someone at my side says, “There, she is gone.” Gone where? Gone from my sight, that is all. She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side, and just as able to bear her load of living freight to the place of destination. Her diminished size is in me, not in her. And just at this moment when someone at my side says, There, she is gone”, there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices ready to take up the glad shout, “There, she comes!” And that is dying.--Mary Pickford, My Rendezvous With Life

Memorial Candle lit by Shirley Adams

Sat, 28 Dec 2013 08:53:20 EST

Shirley Adams and Steven Yarnell

Photo shared: Linda on boat.JPG

Sat, 28 Dec 2013 08:47:00 EST

Linda and Jim on the pontoon boat, Chautauqua Lake, Aug. 2012

Photo shared: Rainy.JPG