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24 Articles

I’m so ready for fall and the holiday season this year. My New Orleans family has been planning a New York reunion at my house since early summer. Lord knows where we’ll all sleep, but there probably won’t be much of that. At Guideposts we’ve been busy preparing our full-size, full-color keepsake edition of The Joys of Christmas 2022. It’s packed with true stories that celebrate the joy of giving, the joy of friends and family, the joy of prayer and the joy of holiday recipes. You’ll hear from Trisha Yearwood, who whips up a breakfast lasagna at husband Garth Brooks’s request, and I’ll be following that recipe for my holiday guests. Trisha says I can get the breakfast ready on Christmas Eve (I’m thinking before midnight Mass), refrigerate it overnight…

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Secrets From Grandma’s Attic Follow Grandma Pearl’s granddaughters as they discover hidden treasures and explore generations-old mysteries. At the heart of each installment is the legacy of a deep, abiding faith that shaped this family. Find our Secrets From Grandma’s Attic fiction series at guideposts.org/grandmasattic. Breast Cancer Awareness With so much information about breast cancer available online, it can be difficult to tease out the facts. We spoke with Robert Smith, Ph.D., a trusted expert in cancer prevention and treatment, about the latest research and what you need to know about breast cancer. Read our web-exclusive article at guideposts.org/breastcancer. Witnessing Heaven Watch powerful firsthand accounts from people who have experienced death and lived to tell about it. Be encouraged by these eyewitnesses who know for certain that the afterlife is real and filled with love—from…

WHAT’S NEW ONLINE

visit from a bluebırd

Cardinal, goldfinch, bluebird. The three stained glass birds were attached with suction cups to the window of Mom’s room at the nursing home. My brother had made them for our nature-loving mother years ago, and we’d hung them for her in the assisted living home where she stayed before her latestage dementia required the care of a nursing home. The glass birds had come with her here, but I was never sure at this point if they brought her any comfort at all. That first move out of Mom’s home was hard enough, but at least she had her bird visitors at the assisted living facility. Sparrows, finches and nuthatches filled the bird feeders there. Almost as many as the birds that were never far from her feeders in her own…

visit from a bluebırd

heaven’s music

I stood in the kitchen at my childhood home in my sock feet, waiting for my mom to get ready. We had a list of errands, including a trip to the antiques store. I looked around, reminded of happier days when I was just a kid with my whole life ahead of me. Sometimes I’d be so full of joy, I’d tap dance in the kitchen, laughing at my reflection in the glass panel of the oven door, delighting everyone who caught a glimpse of my routine. It had been a long time since I’d felt that happy. I hardly smiled anymore. After my husband left me with our finances in complete disarray, I felt like an unlovable failure and acted like one. A disappointment not only to my family,…

I turned my grocery cart out of the produce aisle and pulled out the phone buzzing in my purse. It was Julia, my 19-year-old daughter, calling from college. “Mom, I’m so stressed,” she said without even a hello. “Business class?” I guessed. Julia had been struggling with the course all semester. “I’m afraid I’m going to flunk the test tomorrow,” she said. “I pay attention in class, I take notes, I study, but I have zero confidence. Maybe I should change my major.” “You don’t have to decide that right away,” I said, quickly grabbing the last grocery item on my list. This wasn’t the best place for a serious conversation, and I needed to figure out what to say. “I’ll call you back after I load the car.” I walked toward the checkout counter,…

My father collected birds’ eggshells—beautiful blue pieces of robin’s egg, the speckled eggshells of the brown thrasher, pieces that came from the hatching of a bobwhite. All 10 of us children contributed, often finding shells beside the path where a bird had cleaned house after her young had hatched. We’d carefully pick up a delicate find and carry it to the house on the tip of a finger. Then we’d lay it gently on the bed of soft moss Dad had prepared in a wide, shallow desk drawer. Mamma and Dad would examine each shell and help us figure out what kind of bird might have laid the egg. Together, we collected hundreds of shell pieces, so many that we had to vacate another drawer for our treasures. Many of us…

New York City Cabbie

I hailed a cab in front of my office on Sixth Avenue in midtown Manhattan. “Hello,” the driver said cheerfully. “And where are we going?” His voice was loud and friendly, with a light Spanish accent that reminded me of my dad’s. But I didn’t want to invite conversation, so I gave him my home address without even a hello back. I pulled the taxi door shut. I didn’t have the energy to make small talk with a stranger. I just wanted to avoid people in general. Couldn’t God at least give me that? One peaceful cab ride is all I’m asking for right now. The cab pulled away from the curb. Like most New Yorkers, I usually took the subway or an express bus after work. But today had been rough.…

New York City Cabbie

Rattlesnakes were common in the Smoky Mountains, where I grew up, and I knew to avoid them at all cost. But the timber rattler I came up against one sorry day when I was nine had been hiding under the roots of an old tree stump. I didn’t notice until it was coiled like a tight spring, its forked tongue flicking, tasting the air—searching for me. I tried not to move a muscle. If I was standing up, my boots might help protect my legs from a strike, I thought. But I wasn’t standing. I was crouched down on my haunches, eye to eye with the huge reptile. I’d disturbed the snake while hunting for ginseng with my younger brother, Buddy Earl. Digging for those plants was not only fun but…

Change of Address

My family moves a lot. We’ve lived in 10 different houses in the last 19 years. My husband Mike’s career had taken us from Puerto Rico to Pennsylvania, and to our newest home near San Antonio, Texas, to name only a few of our stops. I have relocating down to a science, with garage sales before and after each move, letting go of anything that isn’t practical. Even so, with each house, there’s an adjustment period, a time for settling in and hoping the place will feel like home. Reality can be cause for second-guessing. That was the case two moves ago, to a house in New Hope, Pennsylvania. With our many addresses, I wondered if God even knew where to find me anymore. I was having trouble reaching him to…

Change of Address

on a wing and a prayer

Lin and I hadn’t spoken much since I stopped hosting a Bible study she attended, so I was surprised when she called. “My new fifth graders are out of control,” she explained. She sounded desperate—nothing like the confident teacher I remembered from our group. “I need your help.” We prayed together, just like old times. Problem solved, I thought—until I got an update from Lin. “The children won’t stay in their seats. They throw things, move their desks, swear—at each other and at me—and even get into physical fights.” I found myself promising Lin that I’d pray for her at the start of class the next morning. Why did you agree to that? I asked myself when I was setting my alarm for 7:30 a.m. I was no early riser. I woke the…

I hugged my husband’s picture to my chest one day while I wandered from room to room, alone in our big house. “Bruce, I miss you so much.” Missing him was nearly unbearable, but it only accounted for one layer of my grief. Bruce and I had rarely been apart during his long and valiant battle with cancer. We’d fought the disease side by side for years. But when my husband passed from this world, I had been sound asleep. Less than two feet away from him, I was oblivious in his last moments on earth. That wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen. I was supposed to be present, holding his hand, stroking his forehead, dusting his cheek with my lips, telling him how much I loved him, comforting…

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One summer evening when I was a little girl, I sat with my grandmother on her big front porch, listening to her stories about long-ago cotillions and balls. I could hear lively music coming from the apple orchard nearby. “Is someone having that kind of party now?” I asked. “Not exactly,” Grandmother said. She explained that the man who owned the orchard employed migrant workers to gather the apples and care for the trees. “The days are long and hard,” she said, “but the workers are enjoying some free time before they get their rest.” She believed the workers deserved more money than the orchard owner paid them, and in her opinion he didn’t feed them enough either. “Tomorrow we do something about that, at least,” she said. She organized with…

Special Delivery

Lessons in Trust

“Come on, Tuck,” I said, patting the floor of the 4Runner. “Load. Let’s go for a walk.” This was our first afternoon with the black-and-white border collie I was fostering, and it was time for the daily hike. My dog, Keeper, had jumped into the 4Runner as soon as I opened the hatch. Our young guest, Tuck, danced nervously at my feet, then sat and looked up at me with sad eyes. He wouldn’t jump in. Tuck and Keeper had hit it off right away, running and playing in the yard while I visited with my friend Tammy, who’d come by with Tuck that morning. Tuck had found plenty to keep him busy since Tammy drove off. Why was he hesitating now? I’d taken Tuck in reluctantly, as a temporary solution for…

Lessons in Trust

Merci Beaucoup!

Getting home from Eastern Europe was an arduous journey, but my traveling companions and I would make the most of our two-hour layover in Paris. We didn’t have time to venture out into the city to sightsee, so Mark, John and I found a charming airport restaurant that might as well have been a bistro on the Champs Élysées. I decided to take a picture of the menu as a memento. I reached into my backpack for my camera. I rummaged around for it, expecting my fingers to brush against the familiar shape of my passport. I’d kept it close at hand during our twoweek mission trip to teach English in Belarus. I felt my camera, but where was my passport? My lifeline while traveling abroad! Panic set in. I unzipped…

Merci Beaucoup!

Till We Meet Again

Love Lives On Brielle Saracini and Sean McGuire were 12 years old when they met at camp in New Jersey. They loved to play pool and basketball and go stargazing together. Fourteen years later, they were married in Austin, Texas. It was a love story that felt meant to be, and it was in more ways than one. The camp where the two met was called Camp Better Days, set up for children who’d lost a parent to 9/11. Brielle’s father, Victor, was the captain of United Flight 175. Sean’s father, Patrick, worked in the World Trade Center. The couple wanted to honor their fathers on their wedding day. “We had a nice moment of silence in our ceremony to recognize their presence in our relationship and in our lives,” Brielle told The…

Till We Meet Again

Everything was quiet when I blinked awake in the darkness. My husband, Bob, was fast asleep beside me. But I’d heard someone call, “Mom!” I was sure of it. One of the kids, I thought, dragging myself out of bed. Probably just a nightmare. I checked the rooms where my two younger daughters slept. Eight-yearold Elizabeth was fast asleep in her bed. So was 10-year-old Sarah. Cosmo, our Jack Russell, lifted his head from the living room sofa as I went up the stairs. “Shh, it’s okay,” I whispered. And it was. Fourteen-year-old Amy was in her upstairs bedroom, sleeping as peacefully as her sisters. “Guess it was my own nightmare,” I whispered to Cosmo as I passed by him again. “The girls are fine.” There was one child I couldn’t check…

Prayer for Your Children

Lord, my shepherd, be the Shepherd of my children; that they may lack for no good thing. Prompt them to lie down in green pastures; lead them beside still waters. Restore their souls and lead them in the paths of righteousness for your name’s sake. And if they must walk through the darkest valleys, let them fear no evil because they know you are with them; let your rod and staff be their comfort. Prepare a table of bountiful blessings before them, even in the presence of their enemies. Anoint their heads with the oil of gladness; cause their cups to overflow with blessing. Let goodness and mercy follow them today and all the days of their lives and let them dwell in your house, Lord, forever.…

he makes winds his messengers

PSALM 104:4 The last time I saw my mother I had just turned 16. After her funeral, my brother and I stayed at my grandmother’s house until Dad said it was time for us to return to school. It was difficult to come back home, where Mom would never again be in the kitchen or out in her herb garden. I wouldn’t smell her cooking or hear her setting the table while I did my homework. All I did was cry. We lived across the street from the church, and I spent every afternoon in the cemetery behind it, where Mom was buried. One day I ran all the way there without stopping until I reached the only place I wanted to be. I threw myself down on Mom’s grave, crying out…

he makes winds his messengers

SAINT CECILIA AND THE ANGELS Paul Delaroche (1836) For his first major religious work, Delaroche chose Cecilia, patron saint of music and blindness, though she was not in fact blind. The artist combines both associa-tions in his devout debut, as Cecilia plays an instrument held by angels, her head tilted heavenward, suggesting her many saintly visions of the unseen. SAINT CECILIA John William Waterhouse (1895) Considered one of the artist’s masterpieces, this painting set a world record when it sold for $11 million in 2000. Waterhouse chose his favorite model to pose for the look-alike angels who serenade the sleeping Cecilia. The book on her lap is likely the Holy Gospel, which she always carried concealed from her non-Christian family. THE ANGELS ANNOUNCING HER COMING MARTYRDOM Gustave Moreau (1897) Moreau embodied the essence of the French Symbolist movement,…

God fills the autumn afternoons in Wisconsin with soft breezes. He paints the forests in yellows, oranges and reds, and wrings the humidity from the air. And God gives Wisconsinites one more gift on Sundays in the fall: the Green Bay Packers. On a particularly perfect Sunday for a game last year, I was meant to be in front of the TV watching my team face off against the Cincinnati Bengals. But I had a dilemma. My daughter, Katie, was a student at Gustavus Adolphus College in Saint Peter, Minnesota, a couple hours’ drive from home. She played piccolo in the band, and had invited her mother and me to attend the Sunday concert—my Packers vs. Bengals Sunday—in Christ’s Chapel at the school. If Katie wanted me there, I had to…

When I was five years old, I got lost in the grocery store. I’ll never forget exactly what happened that day, and I’ve told the story more times than I can count. It all happened so fast. One minute my mother was standing right beside me. When I reached up to show her something, she wasn’t there. I ran to the end of the aisle, looking back and forth. There was no sign of her. Tears sprang to my eyes. “Are you lost?” someone asked. The older woman crouched in front of me, so we could see eye to eye. I wasn’t supposed to talk to strangers. Mama had taught me that. But this lady seemed so kind. I knew I could trust her and opened up. “I can’t find my mama,” I…

earning their wings

911, What’s Your Emergency? SOPHIA DEVITO SACKETS HARBOR, NEW YORK I was 17 and an untried, rookie EMT, I when someone called for an ambulance in small-town Sackets Harbor, New York. Adult volunteers had stepped back due to the department’s Covid policy, and we were severely short-staffed. I watched three high school boys step in to save the day. They took the six-month training course, got driver’s licenses, and handled every emergency, on their own, for over a year. Then it was my turn. Crazy as it sounds, my first call involved police and a handcuffed patient so high on drugs that I struggled with what should have been the simplest protocols—taking vital signs and administering oxygen. When checking the patient’s blood glucose level, I needed help holding the patient down. Was I…

earning their wings

After a long day of work and then dinner, I caught up on house chores. Getting organized helped me relax. I trusted that my indoors-only black cat, Cinnamon, was napping safely in her happy place, the screened-in porch. If only I could feel safe and happy myself. I struggled with bouts of anxiety, but Cinnamon had a way of comforting me. I knew she’d be in the hallway at bedtime, waiting to curl up next to me as I read in bed. Just the thought of our familiar routine was soothing to me. This night, though, she wasn’t there waiting for me. I had been so caught up in my busywork that I hadn’t noticed she wasn’t napping where I’d thought. I looked in her wicker basket and under my bed.…

letters & messages

PHIL MEDINA SELDEN, NEW YORK I’m a science teacher, and I love taking pictures of natural wonders that I can show my students. I took a surprising shot right after a snowstorm. I’d stepped into my backyard to fill my bird feeder when I spotted a beautiful imprint of what appeared to have come from a blue jay. From what I could see, its wingtips brushed the powdery snow as the bird lifted off the ground. The picture reminded me of another kind of wonder—an angel soaring heavenward. PHOEBE LEGGETT SIMPSONVILLE, SOUTH CAROLINA One night, when I was around three or four years old, my mother tucked me in bed and climbed in beside me. My side of the bed was pushed against the wall, and my mother was on the outside. The…

letters & messages

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