Lisa Robin Margaret Murray

Lisa Robin Margaret Murray (née Shinn), 68, passed from this world on June 30, 2026, after a long and courageous battle with cancer. Her final days were spent as she would have chosen — surrounded by dear friends and family, with Outlander playing softly in the background.

Lisa was many things to many people, but above all she was original. In a world of ordinary, Lisa was technicolor — literally. Her hair was often streaked with rainbow hues, her outfits were never complete without her own creative flourish, and her home was a declaration of self: walls adorned with the Scottish Highlands, the magic of Outlander, the wonder of Oz, and the creatures of myth and imagination. She believed that when you entered someone’s home you should know immediately who they were. Hers told you everything.

Born February 12, 1958, Lisa spent her early years in Indiana before escaping north — first to Wisconsin, then to Minneapolis, where she earned her degree from the University of Minnesota, an achievement she carried with enormous pride for the rest of her life. She claimed the Midwest as home and wore that identity proudly for decades before the warmer winters of South Carolina called her south, and then Pennsylvania’s dear friendships called her east in her final year.

It was during her years at the University of Minnesota that Lisa made one of the most important decisions of her life — she got sober. She would go on to maintain that sobriety for forty years, a quiet and extraordinary achievement that undergirded everything else she built. Her recovery was the foundation beneath the creativity, the community, the chosen family, and the joy. She never forgot that.

Her passion for democracy and civic life was seeded early by her beloved stepfather, Richard “Dick” Bodiker Sr., the man she called Dad — because he was. Dick served as a Democratic state representative, and his example lit in Lisa a lifelong fire for democratic values that never dimmed. She was a passionate and engaged citizen until the end. Her career in the medical field was, like everything Lisa touched, entirely on her own. She worked in training and education, bringing an irreverent creativity to a world that often lacked it. She was known to arrive at work in elaborate costumes, with props, with animals — and most memorably, on at least one occasion, with her horse.

Animals were Lisa’s first and most enduring love. She always had a dog at her side, with a particular fondness for the feisty Yorkshire Terrier. But it was horses that owned her heart from childhood onward. She owned many throughout her life — rode them, raised them, bred them. She had Clydesdales. She got into racehorse breeding. As her addresses became more urban her horses grew smaller, but she never wanted to be far from one. In a chapter that could only belong to Lisa, she also became the Midwest distributor of exotic Chinese fish, making middle-of-the- night airport runs for live shipments and building a thriving business out of pure curiosity and determination.

But the work that defined her — the work that was most truly hers — was fiber art. Lisa was the founder of Ruby Slippers Studio, named for her lifelong love of The Wizard of Oz, and she was not merely a fiber artist. She was a pioneer. She owned the entire process at one time or another: raising the animals, shearing, spinning, dyeing, knitting, finishing, and selling. Her work earned top honors at competitions across the country, including state fairs, and she was recognized among peers as someone who didn’t just make things beautifully — she made things that had never been made before. Lisa’s creations didn’t just have color and texture. They had story. A skein of her yarn might evoke the Scottish Highlands in the time of the Jacobites, or the slow shamble of zombies through an apocalyptic landscape. Whatever she made, she made it with intention, with magic, and with joy.

For the last two decades, her fiber community was her heartbeat. She was a devoted member of guilds, a fixture at sheep and wool festivals, and a beloved presence in the knitting world. These were her people — and she was fiercely, loyally theirs. Scotland and Ireland claimed a piece of her soul she never got back. She traveled there and connected with Celtic culture in a way that felt like recognition rather than discovery. Her love of Outlander in her final years was an extension of that connection: the Highlands, the history, the Highland men, and not least, Jamie Fraser, whose blessed life-size cutout stood in her room as testament to her complete and utter lack of shame about the things she loved. She had an extensive Outlander collection and no apologies whatsoever.

Lisa’s most important creation was the family she chose. She did not define family by blood alone — she built it, curated it, and tended it. Her three grandchildren, Isabella Skye, Able David, and William Patrick, were among her greatest joys. She adored them with her whole heart. She showed up for Halloween with elaborate costumes she had imagined and created herself. She gave gifts that were thoughtful and surprising and always a little over the top. On Mother’s Day, rather than receiving gifts, she sent them — to their mom Jessie, to thank her for being a wonderful mother to her grandkids. That was Lisa. Generous in the direction no one expected.

She also shared deep and loving bonds with cherished siblings, nieces, and nephews who were part of the family she held close — and with her dear longtime friends who were family in every way that mattered.

Lisa was a great cook, a great listener, a great storyteller, and a great lover of life’s stranger corners. She was not always easy, but she was always unforgettable. She made you feel, when you were in her orbit, that ordinary life was insufficient and magic was available if you were willing to look for it. She looked for it everywhere. She found it constantly.

Her final days were spent doing what she loved most — surrounded by her dear friends Lynne and Michelle, her brothers Scott and Jack Michael, and her daughter-person Jessie. She was not alone. She was loved. She knew it. She was one of a kind. There will not be another.

Lisa was preceded in death by her father, Jerry Dean Shinn Sr.; her mother, Nancy Lee Bodiker (Jennings); her siblings Robin Bodiker Martindale, Jerry Dean Shinn Jr., and Darla Shinn Hiers; and her long-time friend Patrick Dewing.

Lisa is survived by her beloved stepfather Richard “Dick” Bodiker Sr.; her daughter-person and heart child, Jessie Thompson (Luke); her grandchildren Isabella Skye, Able David, and William Patrick Thompson; her siblings Rick Bodiker Jr. (Allison), Scott Bodiker, Jack Michael Bodiker, Donja Shinn, Deana Reynolds (Dan); and many nieces, and nephews.

In lieu of flowers, the family welcomes donations in Lisa’s memory to your local animal rescue, the American Cancer Society, or your local hospice organization, whose compassionate care and support during her final days was a profound gift to Lisa and her family.

Arrangements are private and entrusted into the care of Salandra Funeral and Cremation Services, Inc, Joseph P. Salandra, owner/supervisor, 304 W. Pike St, Canonsburg, PA 15317, 724-745-8120. To view or extend condolences, please visit www.salandrafunerals.com.