Bread, milk, cereal, peanut butter… My grocery cart rattled through the aisles. Like a lot of New Yorkers, I went to the grocery store on foot and carried my bags the eight blocks back home to my apartment. I wasn’t planning to buy much food today, so I’d left my trusty portable cart at home. I turned into the produce aisle. Everything looked so fresh. I took some carrots and blueberries, then some plums and lettuce. I wouldn’t be able to fit it all in my canvas shopping bag. Can I carry all this eight blocks? I had to try.
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On my way out the door the other morning I reached into my purse and came up empty-handed. “I just had it,” I said, digging around in my bag for my iPod. If there’s one piece of modern technology I can’t live without, it’s my iPod. Every day I found new songs to load on it. They made my long train commute enjoyable. “Oh brother,” my daughter said. “It’s a level ten meltdown alert. Mom can’t find her iPod.” I nudged her with my elbow. “Very funny.” Everyone in my family knew how much I loved that gadget.
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“I Saw the Swift Swallow Flying” has always been a favorite soprano solo of mine, so I was excited when my daughter, Jan, said she wanted to learn it herself. “I have so many memories of hearing you sing it while I was growing up,” she said one day on the phone. “It always lifts my spirits.” Jan had been having trouble with her confidence lately. The song lyrics described taking flight, like a bird. That’s just what I wanted for my daughter: to soar through this life feeling strong and free. Jan planned to drive over in a
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Niki was the apple of her great-grandpa’s eye. He loved to spoil her even more than I did, and I was her grandmother! If Niki’s mother said no candy, her great-grandpa slipped her a piece. When Niki wanted a toy, her great-grandpa bought it. Niki was one lucky girl! While I was visiting one day, Niki said that she wanted a turtle. “Those things carry disease,” her mother said, wrinkling her nose. “How about a fish instead,” I suggested. But Niki was adamant. She wanted a turtle. I was glad Great-grandpa wasn’t there. Read More: Great
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When we were kids, my sister, Jane, and I often went to visit our grandparents Tom and Nellie Newsome in Talladega, Alabama, a four-hour drive from our home in Columbus, Mississippi. We’d hang out in Grandpa Tom’s country store, playing I Spy; my sister would spot something in the store and I’d have to guess what it was. There was a lot to choose from—baskets of apples, jars of pickles, or the cute little boy in a cowboy hat pictured in the huge advertisement hanging in the corner. Then Mama New (she said the word grandmother sounded older than
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I wasn’t as spry as I used to be, but I liked to walk, rather than drive, around my small town. Shopping, the doctor’s office, the bank were all nearby, clustered around a busy five-way intersection that connected to the thruway. Seeing the traffic as I strolled back home, I was glad to be on foot. Then I heard a growl. A dog—not looking quite right—stalked toward me. I backed up. Grrrrr! A snarl from behind. I nearly jumped out of my skin. At my heels was a second dog, as angry as the first. Oh, no, I’ve stepped in the
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The new sanctuary of the Bettendorf, Iowa, church where I pastored was nearing completion. As we drove up one Saturday afternoon, my wife and I saw smoke pouring from the open windows. My wife called the fire department from our house next door, while I ran into the church to try to stop the blaze. Inside I threw a flattened box over the flames, stomping on top as fast as I could. This was a losing battle. Read More: Angelic Assistance To Fight the Flames – Guideposts
Dad was every inch the soldier and proud of it. “He was a big, clumsy boy when he went into the Army,” my mother once told me. “When he came out he was a confident, good-looking man.” Even after he left the service Dad still talked about how he liked marching in military parades. “There’s just something about the strong and steady rhythm that makes me feel good,” he always said. When Dad got cancer, the memory of his military marches lifted his spirits. But in the end stage of Dad’s disease, I wished some miracle could make
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01/29/22 New analysis of an ancient Levantine artifact may have revealed a reference to a key figure of the Old Testament of the Bible. Two French scholars say they’ve identified a reference to the “House of David” on the Mesha Stele, a basalt rock with inscriptions that date back to the ninth century before Christ, according to the Jewish News Syndicate. The reference could corroborate the biblical account of King David — the figure who founded ancient Israel’s most historic dynasty of kings. Read More: Researchers Say Ancient Tablet Discovered in 1868 Has Finally Been Deciphered – And a Stunning Confirmation of
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Come on, Arlan. Get up. Get dressed. Go through the everyday routine, I told myself when I woke a few days after my wife’s funeral. Dolly and I had been a devoted couple for 43 years. I’d always had her right by my side, or to come home to at the end of a long day. Who was by my side now? I got dressed, had some breakfast and headed to the cemetery in my truck. My hobby was restoring and caring for abandoned pioneer grave sites, many of them made of sandstone. They’re very fragile. The
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Look at these fish! A fat one with a yellow back and white spots, so close I could touch it. A school of skinny silver minnows, glinting in the sunlight that penetrated the clear water. I couldn’t believe I’d never snorkeled before. What fun! My husband and I were stationed overseas in Naples, Italy. A couple we’d met, Sonnie and Al, invited us to a secluded Mediterranean beach. “Joyce, you have to snorkel,” Sonnie urged. “I’m not much of a swimmer,” I said. “We’ll stay together, close to shore,” Sonnie said. “We’ll be there to help.” Now
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Everything—my whole world—felt gray, colorless, flat. The beeping machines of the ICU. The doctors and nurses who came in and out, sounds and images. All dim. Like I was trapped in a thick, inescapable fog. I’d struggled with depression for years so I recognized the signs. I looked over at my husband, Rob, asleep in a chair in the corner. These last two weeks had been an ordeal for both of us. Why was I not getting better? Nothing made sense. The doctors couldn’t even tell me what was wrong. I clenched my hands into tight fists. I
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I walked out into my front yard, hoping that some fresh air would lift my mood. Ever since moving from the city to the country a decade ago, taking a stroll around the five acres I called home always gave me a feeling of peace and serenity. But not today. The economy was bad and my business was slow. With Christmas weeks away, I had barely saved enough money to buy a little tree and some treats for my cats. I only had a small safety net left for emergencies. Please don’t let anything go wrong, I told God.
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Bapa wouldn’t want us to be sad on Christmas. That’s what I kept telling my children after my father, their “Bapa,” died. But this was our first Christmas without our Irish “da,” who loved any reason to celebrate—especially the holidays. “Maybe we should do something to honor his memory,” I suggested to my daughter Catie. But what? “Bapa was so proud of being Irish,” Catie said. “We could wrap a green ribbon around every present this year! He’d love making Christmas more Irish.” Read More: Dreaming of a Green Christmas – Guideposts
I browsed the garage sale, hunting for my usual treasures—postcards, rocks and travel books. But what caught my eye wasn’t something I’d ever collected: two pulpit-sized Bibles. They were remarkable: 130 years old, in mint condition with opulent, bronze-embellished covers. One was written in English, the other in German. I flipped through their large full-color pages. In the German Bible there was a family history. It seemed sad that cherished information had been left behind. I bought both Bibles, even though I didn’t speak a word of German. Years later, my wife, Mary, and I downsized. I
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Peach-picking was a tradition for my dad and me. We drove to the orchard all the time, especially during the summer months. We never tired of walking the rows of lush trees and filling our woven baskets with the juiciest peaches we could get our hands on. One day it was very hot and the air was very still. My basket was almost full. As I reached for a peach a wave of dizziness washed over me. I felt flushed. “I’m going to get the jug from the car,” I told my dad. “I need a sip of water.”
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We all struggled when my husband died, but my youngest daughter, Jill, simply couldn’t bring herself to talk about it. My prayers were for God to bring her comfort. One evening after visiting with her children, she got in the car to leave and began crying. Read More: Till We Meet Again: Angel by Her Side – Guideposts
The only place I’d seen military aircrafts, tanks or jungles in my small hometown of Oelwein, Iowa, was at the local movie theater. Iowa was more a place for ice cream vendors in the summer, hay rides in the fall and Salvation Army bell-ringers at Christmas. But as I headed over to the mess hut for my morning coffee that day in 1945, I barely noticed the jungle. My months in Burma airlifting supplies through China to the other Allied forces had gotten me used to airplanes and tropical birds. But still I missed the little things. Like a
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Mother wasn’t well enough to handle a trip to California from her home in Austria. So my husband and I brought her new granddaughter to see her. “We’re hoping to give her a brother some day,” I told Mother as she rocked our daughter in her arms. “I’ll start praying for a boy at once!” Mother said. “After I pass, I’ll ask the Lord to let me fly over your house and take a look at him.” Read More: A Grandma’s Loving Light – Guideposts
As a child in the 1950s, my mom was fascinated with the Sisters of the Poor Clares who lived in the area. At Christmastime my Grandma Mimi gave her two crisp dollar bills to buy presents for them. The tradition continued after Mom grew up. In fact, after I was grown, Grandma Mimi still gave Mom two dollars for the sisters. While I was visiting one fall, my grandmother grabbed my hand. “Don’t let me forget to give your mother two dollars for the nuns.” Just days later Grandma Mimi passed away. Read More: Grandma’s Parting Gift –
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The lawn was long overdue for a trim. Better get it done before it rains again, I told myself. I plugged my earbuds into my mp3 player. The tractor mower engine could get pretty loud. Those earbuds really helped me to block out the noise. I got in one ride up and down the lawn when a huge gust of wind kicked up. I watched as it sent a curtain of maple tree seedling pods twirling down around me like an army of tiny angels. When the last one hit the ground I turned back to the grass. Read More:
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I could barely make out the keyhole in my front door through my tears as I fumbled with my keys. What am I going to do? I thought. I’d just been terminated, along with all of my coworkers. The family-owned car dealership where I worked was shutting down for good. In an instant, we’d all lost our jobs. Now I had to face the future alone. It was times like this I missed my husband most. Together we could beat anything, but Warren had been dead for 16 years. I still miss you, I thought. Warren, I wish you
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Spring was never going to come. That’s what it felt like when I looked out the window of my new house at another gray and gloomy morning. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen the sun. Rain pattered the windows as I made breakfast. My children finished eating and went back upstairs. I grabbed an umbrella and stepped out to look for signs of life in the garden. But the ground was soggy and cold. Not a bud anywhere, and they were way past due. It’s not a garden with no flowers, I thought. That about summed up my life
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John was a teenager in the ‘70s, raised in a very religious family. But he was more interested in hot cars and pretty girls. “My faith was very superficial,” he says, “consisting mostly of a strict adherence to the rules except when my parents weren’t looking.” Shortly after getting his driver’s license, John landed a well-paying job at a local grocery store chain. Soon he talked his dad into letting him buy a motorcycle. “Now, my independence was complete,” John explains. “I earned my own money. I was buying my own vehicle. I felt like an adult.” (And at
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One of my favorite episodes in Scripture has Jesus telling his followers that the more they give, the more they will receive. It cannot be otherwise, he explains, because God will never be outdone in generosity. The concept of tithing is explained in a different part of Scripture. It’s the idea that the first fruits—perhaps 10 percent of one’s earnings—should be given to God as an act of faith. (The actual money can be given to charity or church.) It sounds simple, but putting it into practice is very difficult. We all have reasons for not giving money away,
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My least favorite thing in the world? Flying. Before every trip I took I considered staying home just to avoid the misery it caused me. Yet here I was in an airport with my husband, Paul, waiting to board our connecting flight back home to Raleigh. The first leg of our journey had been so turbulent I’d even suggested we rent a car instead. An airline attendant made an announcement from the check-in desk: Our plane had mechanical difficulties. “Oh, no,” I moaned. Just the thing to weaken my confidence. If a plane had technical problems I didn’t
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Skiing was all I had on my mind. There was nothing I liked more than grabbing my cross-country skis on a sunny winter day and leaving everything else behind. I drove out to the local nature preserve. There was real freedom in being out there alone, just me, the snow and the sky. The day was so beautiful, I stayed out way later than I should’ve. How can I go back to my day-to-day life when I’ve got all of this? I thought as I whizzed down a small slope. The sky darkened and the wind picked up. Better get home
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