Innholdsfortegnelse for Oct/Nov 2023 i Mysterious Ways

Books can begin in mysterious ways. My latest, A Journey of Faith: A Mother’s Alzheimer’s, a Son’s Love and His Search for Answers, began with a collar light I couldn’t remember turning on when I let Gracie out on a moonless night in the Berkshires. Fear took hold. Not for Gracie—she’s a big golden who can handle herself. The fear was for me. Alzheimer’s runs in my family. My mother and both her sisters died of it, as did a brother, most likely. And then there was my grandfather, whom folks called senile, though now we know better. It’s understandable, I suppose, that I panic at every little misfire of my memory, like Gracie’s collar light, which I had, in fact, forgotten to turn on. I wasn’t sure what was worse,…

Dad had what you’d call a big personality. Larger than life. He could charm a whole room in minutes. Holding my newborn son in my arms, I wished, not for the first time, that the two of them could have met. We’d named the baby Stone, which was my maiden name, in honor of his grandfather. Dad had died just a couple of years before Stone was born, but I was determined he would know him, if only from my stories. “Today’s Saturday,” I said as I rocked Stone. “On weekends your grandfather always played golf. He just loved being out on those rolling green hills. When he came home from his golf game, he got busy in the kitchen.” My mouth nearly watered remembering Dad’s Cajun cooking. One day…

Edward’s story is adapted from his new book, A Journey of Faith: A Mother’s Alz heimer’s, a Son’s Love and His Search for Answers. In this deeply personal narrative, Edward shares the all-too-relatable progression of his mother’s Alzheimer’s, its impact on him and his siblings, his quest to understand the disease, and his search for answers about his own vulnerability and uncertain fate. Woven in are the experiences of others who have traveled the Alzheimer’s path. In his story, we see a reflection of our-selves, the universality of human experience and the indestructibility of love even at the hands of a disease that steals our very selves. A Journey of Faith is now available. Order your copy today by visiting ShopGuideposts.org/JOF or calling 800-932-2145.…

It was cold that Tuesday night in January, even for Butte, Montana. I was at my mom’s house, cleaning up after dinner, when my sister, Penny, called from Southern California. “I can’t believe there are no shep-herds here for adoption,” Penny said. We’ve always been a German shepherd family, and Penny wanted a young male to continue the streak. She’d visited all the shelters in her area. Not one had a shepherd. “It’s going to work out, honey,” Mom said. By the time we hung up, it was 25 degrees below zero and snowing hard. I bundled up for the mile walk home with my German shepherd–wolf mix, Duke, who accompanied me to Mom’s every week. “Something tells me you should walk down Park Street tonight,” Mom said, patting Duke on…

As 1967 began, artist Ben Stahl was exultant. The previous fall, he had opened the Sarasota Museum of the Cross in his adopted Florida hometown. It featured 15 of Stahl’s large canvases depicting the stations of the cross and Jesus’ Resurrection. As he wrote in the March 1967 issue of Guide-posts, “I cannot tell you what effect the exhibition of these paintings will have on those who see them. I do know that the paintings have brought me closer to the most perfect of all men, and that is a stirring and humbling experience.” Stahl reflected on the help he’d received—“from friends, from banks, from the city of Sarasota.” He’d also heavily mortgaged his home. But it was a short-lived glory. On April 16, 1969, Stahl learned that the museum…

For years I had wanted to take a trip to Bannack, a ghost town in southwestern Montana that was booming back in the 1860s, the days of the Gold Rush. In 1864, Bannack was the first territorial capital of Montana, until the capital was moved to Virginia City. The area is rich with history and not far from Alder Gulch, where my ancestors first settled when they came west in 1864. One June day, I decided to make the journey and photograph some of its historic buildings. The billowy clouds would make a good backdrop. The trip took longer than I realized, and it was midafternoon when I got there. Off the main highway, a well-maintained secondary route led into Bannack. I took some photos of the old buildings, aware that,…

“Angels defend and protect us, mainly from our enemies but sometimes from ourselves. They guide and direct us when we’re lost or confused. Angels speak the truth: God loves us and we are never alone.”—Roma Downey, AUTHOR AND ACTOR BELOVED FOR HER ROLE ON TOUCHED BY AN ANGEL “For it is not the shape, but their use, that makes them angels.”—Thomas Hobbes, PHILOSOPHER “Make yourself familiar with the angels, and behold them frequently in spirit; for, without being seen, they are present with you.”—Francis de Sales FRENCH CATHOLIC BISHOP “Angels are the dispensers and administrators of the divine beneficence towards us.”—John Calvin THEOLOGIAN “When angels visit us, we do not hear the rustle of wings, nor feel the feathery touch of the breast of a dove; but we know their…

Whap! The guy next to me whacked me in the head with his newspaper. The train car was packed. I had been swallowed up in the Mother of All Rush Hours aboard a commuter train. The previous train out of New York had broken down, and its passengers had swarmed into this one. I got swept into a corner, jammed beside a tall, heavyset man who was reading The New York Times. I was shorter than the guy, so the top of my head was in direct range of his newspaper. Whap! Each time he turned a page, I got hit again. As if my day hadn’t been bad enough already. I had come into the city for a job interview that had ended up being an utter disaster. My…

I met Pat on my first visit to Clausen Manor on the Lourdes campus in Waterford, Michigan, where my mother had recently been moved to the Alzheimer’s care unit. Director Colleen Burke greeted my wife, Julee, and me. “Good flight from New York? I’ll take you to Estelle. She’s with her friend Pat.” “Who’s Pat?” Julee whispered. I shrugged. My mother was sitting at a table with another woman, presumably Pat. They’d just finished lunch. I could have easily assumed they were any two seniors enjoying each other’s company. “Hi, Mom,” I said. She rose to her feet, slowly. “You look great, Estelle!” Julee said, giving her a long hug. Mom turned to presumably Pat and said, after a moment, “Ed’s girlfriend.” She couldn’t remember Julee’s name or that we…

Hiking has never been  my passion. I was never so aware of that fact as I was this early August morning, trudging through the foothills in the Arizona heat. I’ll never make it up this slope, Lord, I thought to myself. I didn’t have the breath to pray out loud. How am I going to walk hundreds of miles on a pilgrimage? My husband, Chris, and I were preparing to walk part of the Camino de Santiago, or the Way of Saint James, one of the oldest pilgrimage paths in Europe. We planned to take the Camino Francés route, starting at Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port in the southwest of France and traveling across the Pyrenees mountains into northern Spain. We’d go as far as Logroño. One day we hoped to complete the journey…