In our old neighborhood, neighbors chatted over fences. Newcomers were welcomed with chocolate and bread. It had been easy to find friends there. Our new community was different. It seemed that family roots grew deep, deep as the Mississippi River that flowed past the tiny river town.

   We'd moved to decrease my husband's distance to work. Only thirty miles.

   After living there for six months, I was ready to move back home. I was lonely without a friend. My three boys were lonely. My husband, Lonny, seemed okay, but he spent his days at work.

   Lonny noticed my sinking disposition.

   "Shawnelle, you look unapproachable," he said. He and I were sitting in lawn chairs. Samuel, our three-year-old son, sat in his own little chair.

   "What do you mean?"

   "Body language. You placed our chairs fifteen yards away from everyone else. "

   "It doesn't matter. I'm not going to have friends here." Just then Samuel looked up. "Mom's right, Dad. And we just want to go home."

   That's when I knew that I needed an adjustment. I didn't want my boys to learn that the way to work through a tough time was to use a wounded and bitter attitude.

   Over the next few months I smiled when I didn't feel like it. We signed up for reading programs at the library and often visited parks and the bike path along the river.

   One afternoon Samuel and I climbed up the stairs to the library activity room. A woman who I hadn't seen before sat at a long table with a tiny boy.

   "Hi," she said. "I'm Tammy. Do you need a seat? There's one right here."

   I sat down next to Tammy. Soon class was over, and we still had a lot to say. "Why don't you come over later?" Tammy asked. "I live on a farm. There's plenty of room for the kids to run. "We went. And since that day, we've been back a million times.

   When I look back, I'm grateful for that tough time. I learned to persevere. I'm glad I didn't give up.

   And as for my boys, they learned a lesson too. "Keep moving forward" is what I tell them and "Your heart will follow."