Guideposts içinde Apr/May 2024 için içindekiler tablosu

Growing up, I was never in a pinch for a Mother’s Day present. A gift-boxed bottle of Oil of Olay was just a bike sprint to Ed Downings Pharmacy in Walnut Lake. Back then, there was only that one product pledging to preserve one’s youthful complexion. My mom was hardly vain. She rarely wore makeup, except a little blush and lipstick if she and my dad were going out. She hated getting her hair done and refused to dye her premature gray, claiming that’s how God preferred her. Her one capitulation to vanity was Oil of Olay. It was always on her bed table, in that pink-and-black bottle. One day, well into her later years, I found my mother regarding her complexion in a mirror. “I should sue Oil of…

PARKING LOT PARAYERS I hurried across the grocery store parking lot, mentally going over my shopping list. Then I bumped into a friend I hadn’t seen in a while. We did a quick catch-up about our families and our jobs. Both of us were busy, busy, busy. Typical for working moms. In passing, she mentioned that she’d recently been in an accident and was still experiencing some pain as a result. My first impulse was to say, “I’ll be praying for you.” But something stopped me. Instead, I said, “Can I pray for you now?” We bowed our heads, right there in the parking lot. I said a brief prayer, asking God to heal her pain. Then I gave her a hug, and we went our separate ways. I knew…

It had been a big year for me and my family: I’d stopped drinking, my husband and I had relocated from Minnesota to Kansas, and I’d become pregnant with our second child. Although I was on the track to recovery, I seemed not to be very good at it, often falling into the same emotional patterns of negativity and self-pity. Would I ever feel at peace? Being in a new place with a new baby didn’t help, especially when my husband had to go out of the country on business. Our daughter Helen was only a month old. Just after he left, Helen became terribly ill, and I had to rush her to the emergency room. She was diagnosed with spinal meningitis. I had to make decisions about her care,…

It was our last Parent Night, a special event for the parents of high school seniors to help them prepare their children for graduation. My husband and I looked around the auditorium as the principal reviewed the list of things our youngest son, Henry, would need to complete to get into college—applications, letters of recommendation, financial aid workshops. Parents nodded, listening intently, some from Henry’s current circle of friends, others from when he played soccer and some from birthday parties back in elementary school, the same crew that has gathered since kindergarten orientation. Their expressions mirrored the emotions of that beginning-of-school milestone all those years ago. Some parents looked worried, others gleeful, while a few were holding back tears. I was beaming. In a world of unexpected endings, I cherish…

LOOSE TONGUES Tongue-tied had never been anything but an expression to me. Then came the day my one-month-old granddaughter got the diagnosis. “The medical name is ankyloglossia,” her father—my son Lance—explained after a doctor’s appointment he’d attended with his wife, Julia. “It’s when the frenulum of the tongue is extra short or thick. It tethers the bottom of the tongue tip to the floor of the mouth. That’s why Julia’s been having trouble feeding her.” Lance added that Eva would have speech difficulties if it wasn’t taken care of. Ankyloglossia and frenula were beyond my experience. I just wanted to know how the baby’s condition could be treated. “Surgery,” Lance said. “A frenotomy. The doctor can do it in his office, with the baby on Julia’s lap.” The procedure sounded…

I stood in the doorway of my daughter Micah’s bedroom, not wanting to step into what resembled a toxic waste dump. Black garbage bags bulging with stuff she insisted wasn’t trash. A tower of overflowing storage bins. Mountains of clothes all over the place that Micah was randomly sorting through. How at 20 years old was Micah completely incapable of keeping her room clean and tidy? The craziest part was she didn’t even live here anymore. She just dropped by our house occasionally to do laundry. Her first two years of college, she’d lived in the dorm and a sorority house, where presumably there had been some accountability. In less than two weeks, she’d be moving into an off-campus townhouse with her sorority sister Aja. God, is Micah really ready…

I lay on the float in the pool, overlooking my backyard garden. Such a beautiful summer day. “I miss you, Mom,” I said. It had been nine days since my mom passed away. She had been sick with breast cancer and other health issues for the past few years—one complication after another. She’d been in and out of care facilities, each stay taking more out of her. Now she was finally at peace. After her death, I’d gone back to work at my brother-in-law’s auto shop, and life had gotten busy with my kids, who were out of school on summer break. But in the evenings, I would float in the pool to quiet my mind, and my thoughts often turned to Mom. She and Dad had adopted me when…

WORK OF ART Suzi Bevan’s Oct/Nov 2023 GUIDE-POSTS story, about achieving her dream of becoming an artist late in life, reminded me of my wife of more than 67 years, Joan, who passed on in 2021. Joan always loved art. The two of us met in room 211 of our high school—in art class. We married young. Like Suzi, Joan was busy raising our five boys and maintaining our household. When Joan and I at last moved into a retirement community, she returned to her love of art. Joan made more than 54 pieces, including penand-ink portraits and paintings of landmarks. She even gave each woman in the family a painting of their favorite flower. Our local library hosted a wonderful event showcasing Joan’s art, where friends and family packed…

“Laughter is carbonated holiness.”ANNE LAMOTT, writer “Prayer isn’t to remind God what your problems are; prayer is to remind your problems who God is.” 60 Seconds for Jesus, by FATHER JIM SICHKO “Life on earth, one may say, is a testing ground, day to day, to keep one’s conscious faith and unconscious tendencies aligned with the will of God. As we do this, God is also drawing us forth, with boundless light, compassion and acceptance—whether we know it or not.”MARC ARONOFF, writer and counselor “We tend to misunderstand the link between joy and gratefulness. We notice that joyful people are grateful and suppose that they are grateful for their joy. But the reverse is true: Their joy springs from gratefulness.”BROTHER DAVID STEINDL-RAST, monk, author and speaker “To the person behind me:…

Edward Grinnan Why did you need to write your new book, Mostly What God Does: Reflections on Seeking and Finding His Love Everywhere? Savannah Guthrie I was surprised to find I wanted to write it. Even though it was hard and scary and certainly the most vulnerable thing I’ve ever done. My relationship with God is the foundation of who I am and what I believe, and the way I try to raise my kids…this very simple notion that mostly what God does is love us. Edward When I start a book or an article, I find a picture that looks like the person I want to reach. And I tape it up on my computer. Who did you want to talk to with this book? Savannah The book comes…

Mt. Rainier is among the tallest mountains in the continental United States. From its 14,410-foot summit in Washington’s Cascade Range, climbers on a clear day can see for hundreds of miles: distant peaks, evergreen forests, the sprawl of Seattle and the deep blue waters of Puget Sound. But the mountain can be deadly. More than 80 people have died attempting it. Climbers face an array of hazards: icy glaciers, deep crevasses, sheer slopes, crumbling volcanic rock. Most people just gaze at Rainier in awe. Few ever resolve to climb it. One of those few last year was Rose Vanderhoof. Remarkably, Rose is 78 years old. Her successful July 10 summit bid made her the oldest woman ever to scale Rainier. The amazing feat earned her news coverage. Yet, when I…

My little chihuahua, Paco, was one of a kind. He and I had been through a lot together. I thought of him as my soul dog, a gift from God. He’d come with me to Colorado when I moved in with my son to help with his twin daughters, Piper and Mia. Paco was sweet, affectionate and perfectly behaved, particularly with the girls, who were six at the time. Then, after five years in Colorado, my beloved Paco got sick. The vet did a series of tests. “It’s best for Paco to let him go,” he told me. I had Paco put to sleep, yet my feelings did not die with him. I wandered around the apartment with his collar in my hand. There was his empty bed in the…

Beth McCorkle (Laura’s Gift, page 18) was already giving thanks for her son Joey’s recovery from a farming accident when he gave her something new to celebrate. In January 2023, less than three years after losing both of his legs, Joey got down on one knee and proposed to his girlfriend, Dawn Decherd. Amend that to one artificial knee. Joey has become so agile on his microprocessor-controlled prosthetics, he was able to ask Dawn to marry him the old-fashioned way. “It wasn’t graceful, but he did it,” Beth says with a smile. You’ll be happy to know Dawn said an enthusiastic yes. The two had met as undergraduates at Clemson University and dated five years before the waterfront proposal in Beaufort, South Carolina. The wedding takes place this summer. According…

The place I call Deliverance Alley is a vacant lot of grass and dirt in a neglected south Dallas neighborhood. Drive by and you won’t see much. A sign on a deli across the street reads: “No trespassing, prostitution, drug dealing, loitering, weapons or criminal activity will be tolerated.” Why do I call this seemingly godforsaken slice of scarred urban ground Deliverance Alley? What if I said it’s where God delivered me one afternoon almost two decades ago? When I landed in Deliverance Alley, I wasn’t just homeless. I was far from home in every possible way. I’d been born into a military family in Kansas City, Missouri. My dad, Wendell Gene Parker, was a lieutenant colonel in the Army. My mother, Mary Ann Parker, raised me and three younger…

Diane Merkau My grandson pitches for his high school baseball team. When they made the playoffs, I was so excited to watch him play. The day of the big game, I arrived to find the baseball field empty. A passerby informed me the game had been moved at the last minute to St. Clair High School, miles away. If I hurried, I could make it. I started driving and realized I didn’t know where I was going, so I pulled over and looked up St. Clair on my GPS. There were no direct routes, just a series of unfamiliar back roads. I was sure to get turned around. My heart sank. It was the first time I was going to miss an important game. Lord, now what? Just then, a…

Nineteen-year-old Felice Scaduto was working as an elevator operator at the Schroeder Hotel in Milwaukee when musician Boudleaux Bryant stepped into her elevator. Felice recognized him immediately—from a dream she’d had when she was eight. In the dream, she and Boudleaux were dancing to “our song,” as she later told it, and she’d been looking for him ever since. On September 5, 1945, just five days after they met, they married. And so one of the great country music and pop songwriting teams was born. Boudleaux memorialized their miracle meeting by penning “All I Have to Do Is Dream,” one of their many songs recorded by the Everly Brothers, this one in 1958. The heartfelt tribute to the couple’s love hit No. 1 on multiple Billboard charts simultaneously. The Bryants…