Faith & Living

Gloria's Time

jbloustein — Mon, 08 Mar 2010 15:47:27 -0600

Gloria was eighty-seven and the matriarch of a large African-American family.

She lived in a tiny house in a wooded area near a very busy highway. She had raised her family in this beautifully kept wooden structure, which had obviously been loved and tended to carefully. Over many years she had educated her children, all of whom had gone to college.

Family life had been filled with strong faith, church attendance, choir practice, and discipline. You could say this was a “faith-filled family.”

Jennie—She Taught Me to Love Spring

mcherkezian — Wed, 04 Mar 2009 09:44:03 -0600

Jennie and I met in night school. She had lost her husband, and her daughter was no longer home. My only child, a son, was in college, and my husband had encouraged me to finish work on my degree.

After Jennie and I had completed the required courses, we started teaching in the same school. Frequently we had lunch together.

Forever Yours

admin — Thu, 01 Feb 2007 11:30:00 -0600

It was the first Valentine's Day since my husband, Robert, had passed away in 2002. Husbands aren't supposed to be the romantic ones in a marriage, but he was.

A Message from Beyond

jbloustein — Mon, 30 Nov 2009 14:55:21 -0600

There was a time in the early 1800s when spirits made their presence known by rapping or table-tipping, apports—the mysterious appearance of objects—lights or writing on slates.

They don’t do this much anymore, but I have one example of apports.

My friend Dorothy was well over 92 years old, when she was filled one day with paralyzing anxiety, the frenzied sense she had something to do. Suddenly she picked up a pen and to her astonishment found the words writing:

The Perfect Snowflake

jbloustein — Thu, 17 Dec 2009 14:17:01 -0600

Widow still didn’t seem like a word that should describe me.

I couldn’t yet face the truth that my husband, John, was gone.

I had no intention of visiting his grave so soon after his death, but as I passed the cemetery I flipped on my turn signal. I couldn’t stay away, and yet I was so miserable. So full of questions no one could answer.

Halie's Rainbow

jbloustein — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 09:44:50 -0600

Brazil, Indiana is a close-knit community, and so is the local high school’s marching band, the Northview Marching Knights, eight-time state champions.

Every Thursday, after practice, the staff gathers for dinner at the home of Bob and Ruth Anne Medworth, director of the band and color guard, respectively.

The Medworths live only a mile from the high school, so everyone shows up minutes after practice lets out.

Healing at Christmas

admin — Wed, 01 Dec 1982 11:33:00 -0600

My dad was frugal about some things—wouldn't spend much on himself. For instance, though he was devoted to his lodge, he wouldn't indulge in a lodge ring. But his love for his children—my brother Bob especially—was extravagant.

When World War II broke out, my handsome, fearless brother became a Marine fighter pilot. Early in 1944, he died under enemy fire in the South Pacific.

Mother's faith sustained her, but my father aged before our eyes. He began missing work. He lost interest in everything, and even stopped going to his lodge meetings.

Dad's Orange Tree

admin — Wed, 29 Oct 2008 15:20:40 -0500

I guess I've always been a daddy's girl.

Dad ran the only funeral home in our small Minnesota town. Maybe it came from spending so much time comforting other folks, but from skinned knees to high-school heartbreaks, he knew just what to do or say to make me feel better.

It was no different after I grew up and started a family of my own. Dad was more than a grandfather to my two sons. He gave them support and advice from the time they started walking until they left home. When I went through my divorce, Dad was right there to ease the terrible hurt of that as well.

Decisions, Decisions

admin — Tue, 09 Dec 2008 13:50:17 -0600

As a football coach I had to make decisions, lots of them, quickly and almost constantly. I didn't always make the right ones—no one does—but my record is pretty good, and that's partly because of a lesson I learned many years ago.

At the time, I was offensive coordinator of the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. I was 38 and had been on the coaching staffs of college and professional football teams for 14 years. It was about time, I believed, that I made head coach somewhere. But nothing seemed forthcoming.

A Bell Ringer's Promise

admin — Thu, 01 Nov 2007 10:40:00 -0500

Sad times can be even sadder at Christmas. Twenty years ago I was a divorced single mom, struggling with a job and college classes, hoping for a better life. Money was tight. I literally counted pennies.

One cold December day I squeezed into the last parking place at the supermarket. Meals for my 13-year-old son, Shawn, and me were a priority. But it was Christmastime. Shawn dreamed of an electric guitar.