Faith & Living

Ready to Go

jbloustein — Tue, 09 Mar 2010 13:42:49 -0600

I've always been a bit forgetful.

My mom created a mantra to recite whenever I left home to go back to school: "Keys? Wallet? Watch?"

Usually, I'd run back into the house to retrieve what I'd left behind. But now that I'm an adult, I can't still rely on Mom.

Rescuer in White

jbloustein — Tue, 16 Mar 2010 08:55:22 -0500

We were standing in my parents’ front yard saying goodbye when we heard her scream—it was our daughter, two and a half.

Rushing to the backyard, we found Helen standing in the center of the flagstone sidewalk, crying and dripping wet. It was apparent she’d fallen into my parents’ small but deep fishpond. Thank God she was safe!

Uncovered

jbloustein — Tue, 16 Mar 2010 08:50:52 -0500

When it came time to renew my subscription to a magazine, I sent a check. But the next month I received a notice telling me I hadn’t paid.

Immediately I sent a copy of my canceled check, accompanied by a letter of explanation. Thinking the matter was resolved, I stuffed the check into a folder full of other receipts.

That’s why I was annoyed later to find a notice in the mail at work from a collection agency for the amount owed on the magazine subscription. “But I have paid!” I stormed. “What do I do now?”

A Prayer for Lawn Care

jbloustein — Tue, 16 Mar 2010 08:46:01 -0500

“Are you planning on buying mulch this year?” my mom asked me one afternoon.

Every spring, after the pollen stops falling from the trees, I spread mulch around the trees and plants in my front yard. But I hadn’t bought any yet, even though the little green twigs had stopped falling days ago.

I’d been watching my budget carefully, and as much as I loved my landscaping, it took a backseat to other things I needed to take care of. “I just can’t afford it. The Lord will just have to dump it in my yard,” I joked.

On the House

batch — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 20:23:08 -0500

Keeping track of seven children is hard under any circumstances, so my sister, Angie, and I were on triple alert when we took all the kids to the Martin Luther King, Jr., Day parade.

"It's a long way back to our car," Angie said when the celebration was over. "I don't know if the little ones will make it."

"I'll wait here," I said. "Pick us up with the car."

Disney World or Bust

jbloustein — Tue, 09 Mar 2010 13:49:05 -0600

For years my husband, John, and I had dreamed of taking our three kids to Disney World.

We’d planned our trip down to the last detail and dollar. But in Georgia, halfway there, our car died.

At a garage, the mechanic promised our Mercury Sable would be repaired by the next week, when we would be heading home. Meanwhile, John tried to find us a rental car. There was nothing for me to do but pray. Lord, please get us to Disney World.

Good Catch

batch — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 20:23:04 -0500

We set out the cake on the picnic table by the lake to celebrate Mom's birthday.

I might have picked another spot had I noticed the fisherman before my son, Chandler, did: "Can I go watch him? Please?" Chandler had been begging me to take him fishing. It was just the kind of thing I worried I couldn't provide for him, now that his father was gone.

"Okay, but don't be a bother," I said. "Fishermen tend to like things quiet."

An Irish Blessing

mcherkezian — Thu, 12 Mar 2009 16:22:08 -0500

Saint Patrick’s Day had been my mother’s favorite holiday. It meant more than parades and parties; it was a celebration of her heritage. Like any Irish mother, she was fiercely proud of her roots. She kept a neat home, a beautiful garden, and took care of the birds in her yard. Her death a year earlier, though not unexpected, had left me grief-stricken, and I dreaded my first March 17 without her.

Black Ice

jbloustein — Tue, 09 Mar 2010 13:53:26 -0600

That spring break, Mickey and I had arranged a ride from Chapel Hill, North Carolina, where we were graduate students at UNC, to Mickey’s parents’ home in Michigan.

Two guys in our class, Tom and Mike, were driving to Ann Arbor. Our route would take us through the mountains in Pennsylvania where there had recently been ice storms. Mickey and I were both worried about the drive.

“Relax,” the boys said. “What could happen?”

A Place for Me

mcherkezian — Mon, 02 Mar 2009 12:52:43 -0600

I grew up in rural New Hampshire, eldest daughter in a family of six children. In our chaotic household I found refuge in make-believe, often pretending that I was a beautiful girl named "Joan Bishop" (Joan from Joan of Arc and Bishop from the English translation of my French last name). I never told anyone else about Joan Bishop. It was a secret between God and me.