Faith & Living

A Sign in the Night

jbloustein — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 11:39:07 -0600

The Christmas party had been wonderful. It was great to be among friends on Christmas Eve, sipping eggnog and singing carols.

I was sorry it had to end. Finally, at a little past one in the morning, I headed home.

I was almost at the freeway exit when I saw the sign: CLOSED FOR NIGHT CONSTRUCTION/PLEASE TAKE ALTERNATE ROUTE.

Alternate route? The 55 Freeway was the only way I knew back home, and there weren't any detour signs. The next exit was coming up fast. Maybe this will put me on the right road, I thought turning off.

Our Miracle Dog

jbloustein — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 14:48:44 -0600

The lake where we kept a house up north had been frozen for weeks, but today was the first time the weather was nice enough for a walk along the shoreline to my friend's house.

I bundled up my granddaughter, Amy, as my Welsh terrier, Sir Lancelot, pranced at our feet.

"Lance, you're staying here," I said, but the little rascal wouldn't take no for an answer.

He's not going to let us go without him, I thought, though it was odd for him to be disobedient.

Guided Home

jbloustein — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 11:47:24 -0600

I love the snow. Always have.

I'm 85 years old and legally blind, but I can still see light and some shapes—and I still get excited by fluffy snowflakes.

That's the reason why I ventured out late one snowy afternoon last winter.

I shuffled down my long driveway to my favorite Douglas fir. I went from tree to tree, shaking snow from the boughs. Soon I noticed that I was surrounded by vague unfamiliar shapes. I'd gone too far into the woods!

Grandma's Last Gift

jbloustein — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 10:51:39 -0600

I grabbed the box of old gift bags out of the closet, planning to reuse them for this year's Christmas presents.

Normally, wrapping gifts put me in a joyful mood, but this year it was hard to get into the spirit of the season.

My mother-in-law had passed away after a long battle with cancer, and our family was grieving. None more so than my daughter, Shannon.

She hadn't lost only a grandmother. Grandma Anabel was much more. Shannon has Down syndrome. When her father and I needed someone to take care of her, Grandma Anabel stepped in.

Sparkly Brown Eyes

jbloustein — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 15:54:57 -0500

Huron, Ohio, was where I’d spent my twenties, working on a steamer out on the Great Lakes.

My wife and I started our family there, and later we came back to Huron to retire.

Then, during the final stages of construction on our new home, I had difficulty breathing. The doctor determined I needed open-heart surgery. I was admitted to a hospital in Sandusky. Everything was put on hold.

My Silent Partner

batch — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 20:20:05 -0500

As a young woman, I lived and worked as a maid in the home of a Detroit doctor. On my evenings off I went dancing downtown at Arcadia Hall. The Charleston was the craze, and in 1927 I knew all the steps.

One night I danced almost exclusively with a handsome blond who was attentive and polite. When the orchestra played Good Night, Sweetheart, he asked if he might see me home in a taxi. Despite my employer's warnings about strangers, I felt safe accepting this offer.

Wrapped in Comfort

jbloustein — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 15:18:58 -0600

My husband talked me into accompanying him on a business trip to Los Angeles, but it was the last thing I wanted to do. While he met with clients, I climbed a steep hill to a bluff overlooking the ocean. Maybe the higher I go, the better God will hear me. "Lord, how could this happen?" I shouted when I reached the crest.

"Will I ever feel better?" Only the distant surge and sweep of the ocean responded.

The Guiding Light

jbloustein — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 15:09:50 -0600

My daughter Sandi and I were driving home to Tennessee after spending Thanksgiving with relatives in Detroit. As we neared the Cumberland Mountains, we hit a blinding snowstorm. The radio warned of treacherous conditions. Phone lines were down. Ours was the lone car approaching the foothills.

Straightening in her seat, Sandi gripped the steering wheel tightly. "Dad’s expecting us," she said. I was anxious to get back too. "Okay," I agreed, "let’s keep going."

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.

Who Would Watch Over Us?

Thu, 11 Dec 2008 18:11:40 -0600

I shushed the kids. Driving in this snow was nerve-racking enough. I was emotionally drained that Christmas. It was the first since Jim, my husband, passed away, and I wondered how I could take care of our kids.

Even this simple trip to the grocery meant that the three of them—17-year-old CJ, 11-year-old Sandie and three-year-old Ronnie—had to come with me.