Finally, the storm clouds lifted! It had rained for nearly two weeks straight, our European vacation better suited for ducks than my two youngest children and me. Still, we’d had a wonderful stay with my elderly cousin, Tante Helga. She’d lived her whole life in Thumersbach, a tiny village of about 900 people, and knew the mountains like the back of her hand. A retired obstetrician, she was a friend to everyone in the community.Her villa, on the shore of a lake high up in the Austrian Alps, was like a scene from a storybook. It was magical. We’d been
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Usually I’m not an early riser, but on our beach vacation in Fort Lauderdale I was up with the sun. The flash of dawn on the water and peaceful rhythm of the waves against the shore always made me feel close to God. I pulled on my clothes, anxious to get outside and walk in the sand. Life had seemed hard lately. My computer consulting business kept me more busy than I sometimes wanted to be, not to mention managing the office and doing all of the bookkeeping for my husband Chuck’s oil business. And then there were our teenage
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My husband found me sitting in a puddle of half a dozen broken eggs on the kitchen floor. “What happened?” he asked. “I dropped them,” I said, sobbing. “Can’t you see?” Todd threw up his hands. He’d tried to understand me, but he couldn’t. Six months pregnant, I overreacted to everything, sometimes bursting into tears for no apparent reason. Todd and I had been high school sweethearts, and we were happy about our first baby, but we were only 20 years old. It was all too new and overwhelming. We both had full-time jobs, and Todd often worked late, so
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“Mom, I lost my retainer!” my son, Joey, said to me over the phone one afternoon. “Calm down,” I told him, although I was really talking to myself. “I’ll leave work early and come by the school. We’ll find it.” I’d do anything not to have to replace the expensive device. “I took it out to eat lunch and set it on my tray,” Joey said when I got to the school. “I forgot it was there when I dumped my tray into the trash can.” By the time Joey realized what he’d done, the whole school had been through
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t was Sunday evening. The sun was setting on a choppy, cool day on Florida’s Indian River. I’d skippered a Coast Guard Auxiliary vessel for eight years. My crew and I were civilian volunteers, but the US Coast Guard relied on us to keep the folks who were fishing or sailing these waters safe. Patrolling this river never felt like work to me. Besides being outside on the water, I liked knowing I was watching out for anyone who might need help. So far I’d rescued a dozen or so people in trouble. My mother might have said I acted
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It was just a ringing telephone, but it filled me with dread. As I reached out to answer it, I remembered the phone call I’d received only weeks before. The phone call from the hospital telling me my daughter Ashley had been in a terrible car accident. Whatever this call was about, it couldn’t hurt me. The worst had already happened. Ashley was dead. Back in my kitchen, I lifted the phone off the hook. “Hi, Karen. Something just happened down at Roy’s Market.” Kim was a good friend of mine. Roy’s Market was the store down the road, the
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Swinging on my family’s old metal swing set was one of my favorite things to do. I loved the feeling of soaring over the earth with the cool wind in my hair. One afternoon, my sister and I were so busy swinging we didn’t notice the sky had darkened.“Girls, come inside!” my mother yelled from the front porch. We jump off the swing set and dashed toward safety.Kay was faster.I followed her underneath the 15-foot long wire that connected our TV antenna to the house. The antenna sat on top of an old tree trunk. Read More Grounded by a
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Back when we were a young couple, my husband, Bill, and I shared a bedroom with our seven-month-old baby, Steve, who slept in a crib near our full-sized bed. One night, as my family lay sleeping, I sensed someone in the room with us. Read More Blue Angel at Her Baby’s Bedside – Guideposts.
It was a short drive home from the day care center, so my daughter-in-law let my three-year-old grandson, Isaiah, ride in the front seat. The car went off the road and flipped over before coming to a rest on its wheels. My daughter-in-law looked for Isaiah. The seat beside her was empty. Isaiah was sitting in the backseat—completely unharmed! He crawled into his mother’s lap to wait for help. Read More Secure in Arms of Angels – Guideposts.
Most people who looked at Mine-O-Mine would only see a worn red blanket. But to my four-year-old son, Isaiah, that blanket meant the world. Now it was lost. “We had it at the soccer game this evening,” I said. I hoped that we hadn’t left the blanket at the field. “Have you checked the van?” I asked my husband, Lonny. “I even checked under the seats,” he said. Mine-O-Mine was gone. “I won’t be able to sleep without him,” Isaiah whispered. Although Lonny had searched the entire van, I felt compelled to check again. Lord, I asked, Mine-O-Mine is so
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“Mommy, I’m hungry,” three-year-old Ashley said. She’d been a trooper all day, squirming in her car seat while I chased down job leads. I wished I had something to show for it. Now I had to get home to figure out dinner for her and the three boys. What on earth am I going to feed them? I thought as I drove to our mobile home lot. I’d come as a single mom to Canyon Lake, in the Texas Hill Country, where trailer parks offered affordable living. Problem was, I couldn’t find work. I told myself to stay confident, to
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Just after midnight my husband, Michael, and I were woken by the ringing phone. Michael spoke to someone a few seconds, hung up and turned to me with a sleepy smile. “It’s one of the guys at work,” he said. “He says we should go out and look at the northern lights.” We had been living in Alaska for over a year and still hadn’t seen the famous aurora borealis. The folks at the Forest Service didn’t want us to sleep through it. What a relief to get a phone call with good news, I thought as I pulled on
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The night was serene above the clouds, and I marveled at the sensation of flying. Just like angels, I thought, imagining them all around us. I was with my friend David Wright, who was piloting a Beechcraft Bonanza back to our local airport in Fort Worth from Oklahoma, where we’d taken our pastor and his wife. We’d had a prayer service before we left Texas, and people told us they’d linger at the church for a while to pray some more. “Bad weather reports,” they’d said. Although I was grateful for their prayers, there seemed no cause for alarm. Our
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My husband and daughter had always been especially close. Ten-year-old Becky was her daddy’s little helper, running after Don if he went to the store or handing him tools as he fixed a leaky faucet. I had back problems and when the three of us were out walking, I’d often fall behind; Don and Becky would turn around, coaxing me to catch up. When Don started cleaning houses for extra money, he often took Becky along for company. The quiet of the house without them got to me, but it was good knowing they were together—almost like worrying about one
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Let me say at the outset that Carl is getting professional help at a domestic-violence treatment center. Since I do not want to hurt his chances of recovery, I have changed names and locations to camouflage his identity. Otherwise I am putting down exactly what happened on the night of May 10, 1994. Carl Broderick and his wife, Marie, were my landlords and next-door neighbors just outside Lubbock, Texas. We shared a driveway, but that’s about all we had in common. I drove a 1987 Plymouth Voyager; Carl drove a brand-new Bronco and his wife a silver Cadillac. Their house
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As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I would have given anything to take them back. I looked at that youngster beside me in the car, pixie face eager beneath her baseball cap. Knowing just how much 10-year-old Erin missed her dad, wanting to do something special for her, I’d invited her to go with me that afternoon to watch the Giants play the Chicago Cubs at Candlestick Park. I’d never seen a kid so excited. We’d been driving across the Bay Bridge when she suddenly piped up, “Maybe we’ll catch a foul ball!” And like an
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In my studio on New York City’s Upper West Side, I train professional opera, cabaret and Broadway singers right alongside talented amateurs from every occupation you could imagine. When I look out of my eighth-floor window onto Broadway, I know Frank Sinatra was right: If you can make it here… Competition is fierce. But often it’s that competition that forges strong bonds between people. All different types of people. And it seems that every type of person has come through my studio. One February afternoon about three years ago, I received my most unexpected visitor ever. I was giving a
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My husband found me sitting in a puddle of half a dozen broken eggs on the kitchen floor. “What happened?” he asked. “I dropped them,” I said, sobbing. “Can’t you see?” Todd threw up his hands. He’d tried to understand me, but he couldn’t. Six months pregnant, I overreacted to everything, sometimes bursting into tears for no apparent reason. Todd and I had been high school sweethearts, and we were happy about our first baby, but we were only 20 years old. It was all too new and overwhelming. We both had full-time jobs, and Todd often worked late, so
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The last thing I wanted to do was go out for lunch. Even with my best friends. Since my husband and I had separated three months before I didn’t really want to see anyone. “Come on,” my friend Kristin urged when she called to invite me. “It’ll do you good to get out and have a few laughs.” I couldn’t imagine ever laughing again, not the way I was feeling. But I couldn’t put my friends off any longer. I showed up at the restaurant, knowing I wouldn’t be very good company. Everyone looked so sunny and happy, I felt
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Hearing aids cost thousands, but they sure are tiny. I didn’t even realize mine was missing until a phone conversation with my sister in California. I found myself switching the phone from one ear to the other, struggling to hear. How annoying. “Love ya, but I must go find my hearing aid, okay?” I told my sister. I hadn’t even bought insurance on it! Around the toilet, under the pillows, inside every nook and cranny, along every single cabinet. It was definitely not in the house. Read More Here
Candy canes were supposed to be everywhere at Christmas. Yet I’d gone from store to store in a fruitless search. The candy cane was for my four-year-old daughter, Carol. It was the only thing she’d asked for this Christmas. I was sure I could pick one up at the last minute. I was wrong. “No luck?” my husband asked. “Every store is sold out,” I said. Read More Here
Christmas was days away, and I couldn’t wait to spend it with my three grown children. But I woke up one morning barely able to breath. “Get me to the hospital,” I told my husband. I was put on a ventilator. Double pneumonia had caused heart failure. My husband gave me the bad news. “You’ll be in ICU for a while.” “But I’ll miss Christmas with the kids!” My children came to the hospital, but our only visiting together was done in the ICU. Each one kissed me good-bye. Oh, Lord, I feel like everyone got cheated out of Christmas
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Beep. Beep. Beep. The sound of heart monitors in the emergency room, a far cry from the carols I thought I’d be listening to on Christmas Day. That morning, on the ranch where I work, I found my boss, Bruce, slumped over in the front seat of his pickup truck, suffering from kidney stones. I’d driven 40 miles to the closest ER. I called Bruce’s wife and told her he would be discharged soon. “We’ll have the turkey waiting,” she said. Bruce, his wife and two kids were like family to me. I lived next door, and we always shared
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I sat by the front window cutting out paper dolls and watching the snow pile up across the mountaintop. The flakes had started falling the day before and hadn’t let up—an unusually early storm for November in West Virginia. If anything it was coming down harder now. “Look at the drifts!” I exclaimed. “They’ve nearly covered the fence.” Mother came in from the kitchen. “Looks like it’s just going to be us this year,” she said. I couldn’t help but notice the disappointment in her voice for our Thanksgiving 1928. “No one could get here on a day like this.”
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Reverent. That was the best word to describe the house when I got up before dawn. Downstairs the tree was decorated, the manger arranged underneath it. Christmas was on the horizon. It would be hours before anyone else was awake. I sat with a cup of coffee in the kitchen, just me and my thoughts about my father. He taught me what Christmas was all about. Dad shook me gently. “Time to go!” I rolled over on my pillow and squinted at the clock on the dresser: 2:00 A.M. Middle of the night for most people. For a milkman like
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Computers aren’t my thing, but my children insisted I get on Facebook. I was grateful for it when Mrs. Moran tracked me down and “friended” me. Back in Brooklyn, when I was a child, Mrs. Moran, a former showgirl, made every holiday in our building an extravaganza—especially Christmas. She cast all the kids in the building in her very own Christmas pageant. As I confirmed her friend request, my mind drifted back to the year I turned seven. My brother, Thomas, and I were making our way up to Mrs. Moran’s apartment for our first rehearsal. “Oh, please, let me
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Heavy snow fell all weekend. The weather reports said three feet, but when I glanced out the second-story window of my New Jersey apartment early that Monday morning, I couldn’t even spot my little silver car in the blanketed parking lot below. My building’s on a dead-end street. Always the last to be plowed, I thought. Finally I made out a square silver patch poking out of a snowdrift. I had to get to work somehow, so I bundled up, grabbed my shovel and headed outside. I climbed over the mounds of snow behind my car and began shoveling. My
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