Prosperity

A Recessionary Angel

batch — Wed, 27 May 2009 04:05:09 -0500

When she attended a foreclosure auction last October, Marilyn Mock of Rockwall, Texas wasn't planning to play fairy godmother to a complete stranger.

But that's just what happened after Mock struck up a conversation with Tracy Orr, a woman who sat crying on a nearby seat.

Orr confessed that her current residence was the next property up for bid. After a job loss led to money problems and she fell behind on her mortgage, the bank foreclosed.

Garden Variety

jbloustein — Mon, 22 Jun 2009 09:19:41 -0500

It was love at first sight for my wife, Marilyn, and me when we found the perfect house in Colo—tall, two stories—with enough bedrooms for our four kids. Half an acre for them to play on.

Two blocks from the elementary school and a short walk from Grandma’s, all wrapped in a small-town central Iowa atmosphere perfect for raising a family.

“It’s just right for us,” I said.

Stranger at Table #5

jbloustein — Thu, 18 Dec 2008 09:27:39 -0600

It was five days before Christmas, and the café where I worked in northern California glowed with strands of red and green chili peppers. Holiday music played over the sound system and my coworkers excitedly discussed their plans. "Doing anything special?" they asked me. I shook my head no.

I was 3,000 miles from my family in Hawaii, pursuing my lifelong dream of becoming a pediatric nurse. I attended classes all day, then went straight to my full-time waitress job at night. My weekly schedule left me exhausted and extremely homesick.

Red Feather, Part 2

admin — Thu, 01 Feb 2007 05:36:00 -0600

It was early in September of last year, and I was on day one of a trip to northern Arizona to meet some GUIDEPOSTS readers. The directions on the seat beside me—scribbled down from a staticky cell-phone message I picked up the night before in my Flagstaff, Arizona, hotel room—looked simple enough. Interstate 40 east out of Flagstaff. Route 15 to the town of Leupp, at the edge of northern Arizona's vast Navajo Indian Reservation. Head north from Leupp into the Painted Desert.

Thrift Shop Angels

admin — Mon, 01 Jan 2007 07:15:00 -0600

A chill ran down to my toes as I raced across the room and slipped into bed one frigid December night. Not that being under the covers helped—the sheets were ice cold. Ever since my husband died I missed his warmth next to me. How nice it would be if I had a set of flannel sheets, I thought. But they were not in my budget anytime soon. With Christmas just weeks away I'd spent all I could on presents for my four children.

Remembered

admin — Mon, 01 Jan 2007 06:49:00 -0600

Morrill Worcester will never forget his first trip to Washington, D.C., in 1962. He was a 12-year-old paperboy for the Bangor Daily News, and he won the trip for signing up the most new subscribers. Morrill saw all the sights, but Arlington National Cemetery impressed him most. Unending rows of white markers were a powerful testament to the sacrifices soldiers made for our country. "It stuck with me," he says.

Set Aside a Portion

admin — Sun, 01 Sep 1996 07:22:00 -0500

I was born on a farm in Wayne County, Mississippi, 88 years ago. I lived there with my mama, grandmother, and aunt. We raised corn, peas, potatoes, watermelons and cane. And we used to wash our clothes outside in a big black cast-iron pot.

The First Family of Fireworks

admin — Sat, 01 Jul 1989 09:36:00 -0500

For the Grucci family, making and setting off fireworks is more than just a job. It's a way of life.

Beginning with my great-great-uncle, we Gruccis have been painting the night sky for close to 140 years now. Today we're known as the first family of fireworks, and we got that way through hard work, creativity and perseverance.

But there's another element that I think has made us special. We've always believed that we have God's blessing for our work, which, although extremely dangerous, brings such wholesome pleasure to so many people.

TV is 'Touched by an Angel'

admin — Mon, 17 Nov 2008 11:31:29 -0600

Of all the television series I have produced in the past 12 years, none has affected me more than the one that came to my attention in the spring of 1994.

That's when CBS asked me if I would be executive producer of a new show called Touched By An Angel. "We'll send you a tape of the pilot," said my contact.

Problem Call

admin — Fri, 14 Nov 2008 16:21:54 -0600

When I started working at the new company, Barb* and I got along just fine.

Barb's desk was next to the open window overlooking the company's showroom, the perfect place for someone who thrived on being noticed. When there weren't any customers Barb entertained the staff, letting her hands flutter in circles as she spun hilarious tales about her weekends. I typed the orders at a small desk facing the wall, a spot that suited me as well as the showroom window did Barb. A private, settled 26-year-old, I liked my corner, where I could concentrate on being accurate.