Interior designer Kelee Katillac provides step-by-step instructions for creating a heavenly view in your home.
What You Need
Roller
1-inch brush for outlining
Antique White latex flat paint
(Sherwin Williams #6119)
Quench Blue latex satin paint
(Sherwin Williams #6785)
Non-permanent marker
4-inch or 5-inch brush for general painting
Tracing paper
Krylon flat white spray paint
Craft paper
Celestial Blue latex satin paint
(Sherwin Williams #6808)
Scissors
Blue painter’s tape
Paper towel
How to Do It
Using the Antique white paint, apply a base coat to the ceiling with a roller. Let dry for three hours minimum, till non-tacky to touch.
1. Look for interesting cloud formations then trace clouds on windowpane using a non-permanent marker. Overlay tracing paper and make a stencil.
2. Cut stencil out of craft paper. Tape stencil to ceiling with blue tape. With 1-inch brush, use the Quench blue paint to follow stencil outline on ceiling.
3. Or freehand cloud shape using 4-inch or 5-inch brush. Also use Quench blue to fill in sky between cloud shapes.
4. Spray paint puffs of white into clouds to create billows using Krylon spray paint.
5. To give depth, use 3 parts Celestial blue paint to 1 part water. Dip wet paper towel into glaze then dab on clouds to define them.
Don’t miss Kelee’s inspiring story about what moved her to re-create a beautiful blue sky on the ceiling of her workshop.
Most of us have been there. We suddenly discover we have more stuff than space, or that our treasures don’t seem to enjoy the spotlight like they once did. I found myself in that predicament recently, when props I no longer needed for my home-styling business overtook every spare inch of my home. My situation may be a little different than yours, but the discoveries I made will apply to just about any decluttering effort. Here’s what I learned:
Start with the stuff in containers. Any true, long-lasting organization begins from within. At the start of my own effort, I headed to Wal-Mart where I purchased five of their biggest plastic storage containers and three packs of colored file folders. That first morning, when I was filling one of the tubs with decorative smalls—pictures, an antique coffee grinder, knickknacks, and kitchenalia—my sister Rebekkah appeared on the scene. “You’re not solving anything, Roberta,” she challenged with a chuckle. “You’re just rearranging the junk. And did I mention, you may have a lamp fetish?” It was sad, but true.
Ask yourself tough questions. William Morris, the textile designer associated with the British Arts and Crafts Movement, once advised: “Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful.” When deciding what to keep or part with, ask yourself: Is it beautiful? Is it useful? Is it extra-special to me? For if you decide to keep and display everything, nothing seems special.
Consider rotating treasures. The Japanese do this to great effect. Put your rabbit display on a table top during spring, the chickens in the summer months, and your quilts during the colder days of the year. Store a limited amount of seasonal objects in a closet or trunk.
Create three areas: keep, toss, and donate or sell. I found this to be the hardest part of the process. In fact, I could only tackle it for a couple of hours a day, before becoming emotionally and sometimes physically exhausted. Delivering a few donation bags or boxes, whether to a Goodwill, Habitat for Humanity or a church clothing closet, after every session really helped me keep going. That way, I could actually visualize my progress. You might also want to snap pictures to remind yourself of how far you have travelled.
Ask God for help. Some of my objects were antiques and vintage items, and some of these have recently depreciated in monetary value. That’s when an inner accusatory voice would taunt: “You paid good money for this, Roberta.” Through prayer, I learned there are other costs besides fiscal ones. Not being able to fully experience your home—your center and respite from a world that isn’t always kind—is an important one. God really helped me on this consideration. I felt Him leading me to take things slowly and trust the outcome. Over the course of a few weeks of research, I found that antique textiles and certain collectibles had still maintained their value. These I sold to specialized antiques dealers directly. I cosigned the furnishings that still had decorative worth to a new upscale shop in my area.
Then it was time for even more difficult decisions. Do I take a significant loss on some purchases or find a good home for them?
An example of this was a circa 1890’s grandfather clock I no longer had room for (old clocks have really taken a downturn). About that time, I ran onto a passage in a magazine: “In the end, only three things matter: How much you loved, how gently you lived, and how gracefully you let go of the things not meant for you.” So when my mother’s dear hospice nurse mentioned that she had always wanted an old grandfather clock, I felt a nudge from heaven and I gifted it to her. It felt absolutely wonderful.
In the end, decluttering boiled down to what I actually needed to live efficiently and with great joy. Although I feared regret (“I have to keep this—my mother loved it”) and wastefulness (“Waste not, want not,” my Mamaw always said, and admittedly, I’d made some buying mistakes), the end result was a freeing one. Old batteries, outdated meds, dried-out cosmetics, and other objects that had outlived their usefulness no longer filled my cabinets and drawers. Yesterday’s décor props don’t take down my look these days. And my surplus books are enriching others’ lives now.
Above all, I have learned that the state of our homes affects the state of our lives. I planned to reward myself with a new outfit once the job was completed. But I don’t have to. Finally enjoying my home to its fullest, and living a more aware life, is the best reward of all.
There is a common belief that comedians use humor to deal with or even cover up pain they can’t otherwise process. That may be true in some cases. I’ve known a few comics like that. But not me. I became a comedian because I loved to make people laugh. It made me feel good, and it made the audience feel good. That’s a pretty great gig to have in life, a blessing I’m grateful for every day.
But I also fell in love with something else: drinking. I’ve been sober now for two years and counting, two years in which I’ve suffered three of the most devastating losses of my life in quick succession. How did I survive those blows to the heart without alcohol? That’s what I’m here to talk about.
As seen in the Sept-Oct 2022 Guideposts
Back in the sixties, in St. Clair Shores, Michigan—a town north of Detroit along Lake St. Clair, right across from Canada, near what we Michiganders call the thumb (if you think of the state as a left-handed mitten)—drinking was just a part of life. Growing up in “Hockeytown,” we kids would play in a hockey game, then go out for pizza afterward, the parents knocking back pitchers of beer. No one objected when they poured us a little glass. Wow, cool, we thought. We’re just like the grown-ups.
Eight or nine years old and we’d pour ourselves a gin and Squirt at a wedding reception, so much Squirt in there you could hardly taste the gin. No one said, “Hey, what are you kids doing here at the bar?” No one even objected. As far as I could tell, drunks were funny. A source of laughter.
I used to love watching actor Foster Brooks do his drunken act on The Tonight Show or with Dean Martin, inviting Martin to join his own version of A.A. called Alcoholics Unanimous. Who knew they performed completely sober? Nobody can act that perfectly drunk if they’re actually intoxicated, except for maybe W. C. Fields.
I went to Catholic schools all the way through high school and, like a good Michigander, played on the hockey team. Win or lose, we’d celebrate with some drinking while the adults looked the other way. In a big Catholic family like mine, when all the aunts and uncles and cousins got together, they told jokes—and drank, my uncle Dick doing a killer Rodney Dangerfield, complete with the tie tugging and other tics. He had it down cold, even the material.
My family was tight-knit and supportive, in part I think because of my younger brother, Dan, who struggled with mental illness. Dan was the funniest person I’ve ever known. We started doing impressions when we were kids, trading funny voices back and forth from our bunk beds each night. He had this laugh that was so pure and infectious. I sometimes think it was his laugh that ignited in me the desire to make people laugh. I loved to make Dan laugh.
I had two buddies who were really funny. From fifth grade on, the three of us would get up at hockey banquets and do impressions and jokes. I sharpened my comedic skills in high school. I started working in comedy clubs at age 19 and moved to Los Angeles. Drugs were rampant back then. I was never a druggie though. Just liked to drink. It never seemed to get in the way of things. I worked hard.
Comedians are basically writers. Storytellers. Every joke is a story. A lot happens before you actually get in front of the mic. You write and refine your material, try it out, refine it some more until you get that magic you want: laughter.
I moved up in the business. I was a writer, actor, director and eventually a star on a hit television series, your classic highly functional “friendly” alcoholic. I’d gotten my pilot’s license as a teenager, and I even got my instrument rating in L.A.—careful to take a three-day hiatus from the sauce before I ever flew. Didn’t that mean I could control it? What was so alcoholic about that?
Bob Saget was a close pal even before we worked together in Full House. I slept on the couch at his apartment in L.A. during the struggling years when I was looking for a place to live. We made each other laugh, trying out jokes on each other. When he was cast as the dad in Full Housewith me as his helpful buddy, it was such a gift, running for almost 200 episodes.
I liked to say it was a show about “a G-rated dysfunctional family,” but offstage, off camera, there was nothing dysfunctional about us. There was support, love, affection, respect. If I saw any pictures of myself at an afterparty, I looked happy. The last guy standing. I was the “final, final” guy. Drunk but happy. Making everybody laugh.
When did I cross that line from life-of-the-party drunk to out-of-control alcoholic? When did I see that I was paying a price for this? About five years ago, I started to see the red flags. I wasn’t remembering things. Blacking out, falling. “I’m really worried about you,” my wife, Melissa, would say. By then, we’d been together for more than a decade, and she knew me better than anyone.
“Come on,” I’d say, “I’ve been doing this my whole life.”
“Yeah,” she’d say, “that’s what I’m worried about.”
I loved booze. But it had stopped loving me back.
One day, staying at a friend’s house in Arizona—Melissa wasn’t there—I fell during a drunken stupor. I took a picture of myself, my face a bloody mess. “You’re going to have to show Melissa this,” my friend said, “before she sees you.” I texted it to her, then got her on the phone. I heard her crying. That’s when I knew: I have a problem. A real problem.
Christmas and New Year’s were coming up. All those parties. I’d wait till the end of the year and start 2020 sober. The drinking would be over on January 1. Never again. Not a drop. “Yeah, sure,” I could hear people say. “We’ll believe it when we see it.”
In my mind, I heard that old W. C. Fields line: “Now don’t say you can’t swear off drinking. It’s easy. I’ve done it a thousand times.” Yet I was determined, as determined as I had ever been about anything. No. More. Alcohol. I’d promised Melissa. How hard could it actually be when I was that committed?
Hard. One of the hardest things I’d ever done, my body in torment, completely cold turkey. I trembled. I sweat. I knew the only thing that would make me feel better was a drink. But only for the short term. This was long-term. Not till March did I share the news on Instagram. Letting the world know. No secrets. Dave Coulier was sober now.
As painful proof of my past, I shared that photo of me looking like all hell. If I fell again, it wasn’t going to be because I was drunk. Clumsy maybe or from an accidental stick or puck during pickup hockey, but not stumbling drunk.
I couldn’t have done it without the support of Melissa and friends like Bob. I also called on something deeper, a part of me that had almost gone dormant, a faith from within, my spiritual DNA. It was always there, that inner fire—ready to keep me warm, give me light—but I’d almost forgotten. I began throwing logs on that fire, keeping those spiritual flames burning, a blaze that cast far more light than alcohol ever did, a healing, life-renewing light.
Melissa and I had moved back to Michigan, to be closer to family. My mom had passed, but my brother, Dan, was living with and helping take care of Dad, who wasn’t doing so well. Dan was incredibly funny, funnier and more talented than me. And suffering for all those years from mental illness. Each day was a battle for him. I knew the darkness that was always at the edge of that wonderful laugh.
I was the one who found him. In the basement of the house where we’d grown up, Dad’s house. It shocked me like nothing I ever knew could. Life gone, dead. I called 911, but it was too late. Had there been anything more I could have done? It’s the first thing a person asks as the guilt closes in.
I wondered how I should share the news. Death by suicide. I had come out about my drinking. I would be honest with this. On social media, I posted a picture of Dan and me in Western costume with Mom, taken a couple years before. And told the truth. In sharing, I could only hope that others, people whose families had such tragic stories, would know they weren’t alone.
I would not have had the courage to say all that if I hadn’t been sober. The pain, at times, was unbearable. Drinking would have buried the pain. But it also would have buried the love. That grief, that pain, is the price we pay for love. It drove me to call on that fire of faith more than ever.
It was shortly after my father went into assisted living that a second blow came, one I could not have imagined. Bob Saget’s death. My mind recoiled. It simply wasn’t possible. He was out on the road, doing comedy. We’d just been texting each other that day, sharing jokes and making each other laugh. I’d told him to have a great show.
Later that night, he died in his hotel room of head trauma. He’d hit his head before going to bed. He died in his sleep, which can happen if a concussion causes bleeding in the brain. Bob probably thought it was nothing. He was just looking forward to his next show.
John Stamos was the one who called and told me that Bob was gone. The shock, the horror of it, was immense. For too many years, decades of drinking, I had sheltered myself from addressing sorrow like this. Not now. I felt pain as I never had before, and I had to deal with it on many levels: psychologically, emotionally, spiritually. But I felt human too, more human than I had ever realized.
Was I angry at God? You bet. “Why am I getting punched in the face like this?” I asked.
I think the answer was that I was finally ready for it, finally in a place no matter how painful that I could deal with it honestly, feel not just the hurt but the love without the haze of alcohol. The pain was a gift. But, boy, did I ever pick a time to get sober.
I was talking to God. Not ignoring him. Not running away from faith any more than running away from the pain. I would look at the sky and go, “Hey, is it my turn? Are you kidding me?”
I would hear, “Of course, I’m kidding you. You’re a comedian.” I needed this. I would laugh, cry, get angry and feel the loss, truly feel it. This is what being human is. This is what sober is.
God wasn’t done with me. My father was dying. A person who had been there every day that I’d been alive. I held my dad’s hand at the assisted living facility, Melissa by my side. He was in hospice care—the final part of his journey here on Earth.
I looked into his eyes and told him how proud I was that he was my father. He was a blue-collar guy who put all four of his kids through private school. He sacrificed. He loved us. And now I told him how much I loved him.
Afterward, I felt this huge opening up, a new perspective, a whole new appreciation for the smallest things in life. I could lie on the grass and look at the sky, the way I did as a kid, and gaze at the clouds with wonder.
You realize how short life is and how precious it is. How beautiful. And, yes, how funny. That’s one big way we deal with it all. Humor as salvation.
I still love to make people laugh, to connect with audiences I usually don’t know and make them feel something. It’s the most genuine thing I know. I help them feel human, and whether they realize it or not, they make me feel human too.
I did the math this morning: An Israelite wandering in the desert would have eaten 1,095 meals of manna a year. That’s 5,475 manna-meals in five years; 27,375 in 25 years. You don’t want to know the numbers for 40.
In all that plenty, God provided just enough food for the day and no more, exactly when it was needed and no earlier. It would drive me nuts. I personally need–oh, all right, I stronglyprefer–advance planning, a few reserve supplies, and variety.
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Yes, I would have whined.
Thinking about this made me realize is that my idea of what I need is far more extensive than what’s actually necessary. Often when I pray for my daily bread what I have in mind is something like a warm, crunchy baguette.
I want my daily bread and something tasty and fattening to dip it in. Or I’m thinking about flour and yeast so I can make my own dough and have others admire my industriousness.
It takes a major mental realignment to pray for what I need, just enough and no more, exactly when I need it and no earlier. I have to wrestle to accept that God’s idea of “just enough” may not be the same as mine.
Deep down, I don’t want to learn to be content with less than I yearn for. Which is why, I suppose, that abundance must wait until after I have grasped that what I need more than anything else is to rely on God.
Given the state of my heart, I’m guessing that 40 years in the wilderness might be enough. If I had no choice but to rely on God for 43,800 meals in a row–no matter how hard I complained–it’s possible I would get the message that He will provide what I need.
I note that in His goodness, despite my ingratitude he’s given me more than 40 years’ worth of nutrition already. In His goodness, he’ll also give me the time I need to grasp the the truly important things of life, before He brings me to the land of milk and honey.
Christine made two resolutions for the new year: to read the Bible more often and to lose 20 pounds by Valentine’s Day. She hit the ground running, whipping through two Bible chapters on January 1 and joining a gym the next day. For three weeks, working out and reading Scripture were part of her daily routine. Then life got in the way: Her family caught Covid, and she had a big work project. When February 14 rolled around, she had lost only one pound and hadn’t touched her Bible in weeks. So much for a new year with new habits…
Christine is not alone. Researchers suggest about 40 percent of Americans make New Year’s resolutions—losing weight tops the list—but by year’s end, less than 40 percent have achieved their goals. Should you even bother making resolutions?
“Yes!” says John C. Norcross, Ph.D., author of Changeology and an expert on the science of self-change. “Making a New Year’s resolution is a valuable opportunity for annual reflection. It’s like Lent. These moments remind us to recommit to one’s best self.” And there’s no better time to make a change. Research shows that people who have New Year’s resolutions are 10 times more likely to change than those who attempt transformation at other times of year. Here’s how to make your resolutions stick.
Stay away from grandiose goals, Dr. Norcross advises: “‘I’m going to run a marathon; I’m going to lose 30 pounds; I’m going to write the great American novel.’ These rarely work.” Instead, start small. Commit to running around the track a few times a week. Eat dessert only on weekends. Write in a journal for 15 minutes every other day. Another strategy: Build incrementally on previous successes. A few years ago, Dr. Norcross resolved to floss his teeth every day. “I did it regularly when I was home. But I realized that I skipped it while traveling,” he says. “The next year, I committed to flossing even when I was on the road.”
Does your resolution truly matter to you? That’s key. If it’s a goal you feel you should achieve but don’t really want to, keeping a resolution may prove difficult. “Maybe it’s your mother who wants you to get a more prestigious job,” Dr. Norcross says. “If you start with a goal that truly energizes you, you’re more likely to stick with it.”
Pastor and best-selling author Mark Batterson believes you need to spend time in quiet contemplation before setting your resolutions. That way, you can discern what God is calling you to do. “Is God the loudest voice in your life? Make sure that other voices, including your own self-talk, aren’t drowning him out,” he says.
Guideposts.org blogger Holly Lebowitz Rossi phrases her resolutions in the form of a question, much like the game show Jeopardy. “‘I will make at least one new friend this year’ becomes ‘How can I connect with new people this year—and what will it feel like to grow my social circle?’ Asking yourself how you can make your life more positive puts far less pressure on you. You can’t fail a question,” she says. “And asking yourself the why is very powerful.”
Develop a specific action plan.
Once you have a goal—paying off that credit card debt, for example—think about how you are going to get there. “How will you cut back on spending each day, each week and each month?” says Dr. Norcross.
Batterson says that writing down resolutions—and your game plan—is imperative. “The first benefit is clarity. The process of putting things on paper forces us to be precise. Second is the fact that writing encodes things into long-term memory.”
Another tip: Schedule the hardest thing to do first thing in the morning. It’s what Batterson refers to as “eating the frog” in his bestseller Win the Day. By getting the task over with, you’ll feel both relieved and proud. Plus, adds Batterson, “how you start the day sets the tone for the rest of it.”
If writing down a resolution helps you focus, saying it to others takes it a step further. “One reason this is so effective is because you risk embarrassment, even humiliation, if you don’t follow through,” Dr. Norcross says. “If you walk into a party and say, ‘I’m giving up desserts,’ you can bet people will pounce all over you when you eat that first slice of cake.”
But do be selective. “Tell the important people in your life, those who are part of your support system,” Dr. Norcross says. “Saying it out loud makes the resolution more real.”
Stay the course.
According to Dr. Norcross, it takes approximately three months to make an initial change, struggle with it and then cement the new behavior. How can you give yourself the best shot at success? “Track your progress,” Dr. Norcross says. “Apps are great tools.” Two of his favorites are Fitness Buddy, for exercise, and Mint, for budgeting. “They combine self-monitoring, reminders and rewards.”
Resisting temptation is good, but one school of thought says removing temptation is an even better strategy. If your house is full of delicious cookies, it takes a lot of effort and self-control not to eat them after a bad day. But if you remove junk food from your house, you don’t have to worry about it.
If you make it past mid-January—“Ditch your New Year’s Resolution Day” is held on the second Friday of the month—reward yourself. Dr. Norcross suggests creating a “reward contract” with one of your supporters that clarifies beforehand how you will celebrate. “This is particularly useful for people who have trouble rewarding themselves,” he says. “For example: ‘If I stay on track with my studies all week, I get to pick the Friday night movie.’”
Despite the best of intentions, most people mess up at some point. In fact, Dr. Norcross says, most successful resolvers slip in January. “But a slip is not a fall; pick yourself up and recommit to your resolution,” he says. “Don’t let one missed exercise class end the exercise program. Research shows that one slip-up can actually strengthen your resolve.”
Amy Wong, lead editor at Guideposts, relies on a simple rule: Don’t go more than two days without _____. “Fill in the blank with the positive change you want to make in your life,” she says. “I’ve used this for practicing mindfulness, cooking from scratch, reading fiction.”
Get support.
An accountability partner, or better yet a team, is critical. “The buddy system works,” Dr. Norcross says. “The goal is to obtain support and honesty, not criticism.” It can be a spouse, an online support group, a local Bible study, a friend who regularly checks in and encourages you.
Last year, Dr. Norcross spoke to an online book group focused on New Year’s resolutions. “There were 20 people, and everybody shared their worst behavior change story. It was hysterical. There was so much bonding. People kept in touch and supported each other remotely all year. Don’t underestimate the power of humor to keep you going when you most need a boost.”
This year, a friend and I were moaning to each other about not getting through our daily to-do lists. We set up a challenge. Each morning, she texts me and asks, “What are three things you are going to get done today, no matter what?” After I’ve shared my three items, I may still procrastinate. But as our 5:30 check-in time approaches, I take action. I make the call. I finish the article. I send the email. Sometimes all it takes is a friendly reminder.
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This Lent, be strong and do great things. And by “great things,” we don’t mean simply giving up chocolate or caffeine (although those can be pretty tough, too). No, we’re talking about really making a difference in your life and the lives of others. Create a Lent plan so you can get the most out of this Lenten season.
1. Use the beginning of Lent to set goals for the next 40 days.
Lent is an exciting time to make meaningful life changes. It’s a rewarding journey of reflection and spiritual growth, which allows us to cultivate discipline and determination. During these 40 days, we can set new goals for ourselves, whether it’s devoting more prayer time or making better food choices. Starting Lent with a clear plan and intention can help open the door to slower living and stretch our growth mindset beyond our comfort zone. And at the end of this special season, we will have a new appreciation for the beauty of life — one that could last long after Easter Sunday!
2. Figure out what you want to accomplish during Lent and write it down.
Committing to achieving goals during Lent can be a great way to build spiritual discipline, deepen your faith, and set yourself up for success. Finding what is most important to focus on and making it tangible by writing it down can help you confront the hard and inspiring tasks ahead. Setting clear, but attainable goals that lead to developing a closer relationship with God not only can serve as a source of strength when adversity arises but also bring comfort each time those goals are accomplished. Seeking guidance from the word of God and asking friends or family for advice can also be useful in developing an achievable list. Put your Lent plan somewhere you will see it, like on your bathroom mirror, on your fridge, or even in your Bible. There’s nothing better than feeling the contributions you make every day amount to lasting transformation!
3. Make steps for achieving your Lent plans, including what steps you’ll take and when you’ll take them.
The best way to achieve one’s Lent goals is to have (and follow!) a written set of steps. This season can be the perfect time and opportunity to get yourself organized and put your Lent plan in writing. Making a timeline of what steps you need to take, and when you’ll complete them, creates visibility and clarity in reaching your goal. So if your heart desires something that requires organizing actions, Lent is the perfect time to make it happen. You can use these steps for creating positive habits to make your Lent plan even more effective:
Try habit stacking, or the the technique of adding new habits to your existing habits, to make your Lent goals a part of your daily schedule.
Don’t throw in the towel if you slip up. Go easy on yourself and remember you can always try again tomorrow.
Consider making your Lent goals more manageable by turning them into micro habits.
Keep track of your accomplishments by writing down which parts of your Lent plan you achieved.
4. Get rid of distractions that might prevent you from accomplishing your Lent goals – this may mean giving up social media, watching less TV, or spending less time with certain people.
Taking time to eliminate distractions can be beneficial in helping you accomplish your goal. Make a decision to stop watching too much television, being glued to social media, or spending too much time on leisure activities that aren’t moving you forward. Making these changes will free up time and energy and help you focus on your goal with renewed motivation and dedication. Clearing distractions is like taking a deep breath before taking a plunge into something new; it makes reaching success much easier!
5. Find a support group or someone who will hold you accountable to your Lent plan – this could be a friend, family member, or even an online community.
Taking on a Lent plan is difficult sometimes, you can use a little help. That’s why it helps to have someone cheering you on and supporting you as you move ahead. An excellent way to find someone like this is to get involved with a support group or other online communities related to the Lent goals you want to accomplish. Having guidance, advice, and friendly competition can be all the motivation needed when inspiration isn’t so easy. Support groups or friends who will hold you accountable can keep you in check during the tough times, inspiring and encouraging you towards success in whatever it is you set out to do.
6. Finally, don’t give up! Even if you falter along the way, remember that Lent is about finding strength in God to do great things.
It’s almost time for Lent! Although it can be challenging to give up what we desire, the rewards, in the end, should be worth all the hard work. Throughout the next few weeks, even if you don’t follow your Lent goals perfectly, remember that you can find strength in God to finish strong. Don’t give up as Easter approaches; trust that you’ll be able to tackle any obstacles through perseverance and strength from God. The sense of accomplishment and joy when your Lent plan is complete is a truly amazing feeling. So with this reminder, happy Lent!
So, there you have it—a simple guide to setting and achieving your Lenten goals! Just remember to be realistic about what you can do, make a plan of action, get rid of distractions, find someone to hold you accountable, and never give up. And most importantly, don’t forget that the point of Lent is to grow closer to God. We hope this season is a time of reflection and joy for you as you strive to become the best version of yourself.
This article was originally published in Guideposts magazine in March 1959.
This is the story of a woman’s love for her husband. Whether he deserved that love—and why he acted the way he did—are questions I can’t answer. I’m not going to write about Karl Taylor, this story is about his wife.
The story begins early in 1950 in the Taylors’ small apartment in Waltham, Massachusetts. Edith Taylor was sure that she was “the luckiest woman on the block.” She and Karl had been married 23 years, and her heart still skipped a beat when he walked into the room.
Oh, there’d been tough times during those years, times when Karl had been depressed, unable to keep a job; but she had helped him through the low times and she only loved him more because he needed her.
As for Karl, he gave every appearance of a man in love with his wife. Indeed, he seemed almost dependent on her, as if he didn’t want to be too long away from her. If his job as government warehouse worker took him out of town, he’d write Edith a long letter every night and drop her postcards several times during the day. He sent small gifts from every place he visited.
Often at night they’d sit up late in their apartment and talk about the house they’d own…someday…”when we can make the down-payment”…
In February 1950, the government sent Karl to Okinawa for a few months to work in a new warehouse there. It was a long time to be away, and so far!
This time, no little gifts came. Edith understood. He was putting every cent he saved into the bank for their home. Hadn’t she begged him for years not to spend so much on her, to save it for the house?
The lonesome months dragged on, and it seemed to Edith that the job over there was taking longer and longer. Each time she expected him home, he’d write that he must stay “another three weeks.” “Another month.” “Just a couple of months longer.”
He’d been gone a year now—and suddenly Edith had an inspiration. Why not buy their home now, before Karl got back, as a surprise for him! She was working now, in a factory in Waltham, and putting all her earnings in the bank. So she made a down payment on a cozy, unfinished cottage with lots of trees and a view.
Now the days sped past because she was busy with her wonderful surprise. In two months more, she earned enough to get the floor laid on one of the bedrooms. The next month, she ordered the insulation. She was getting into debt, she knew, but with what Karl must have saved…
She worked feverishly, almost desperately, for now there was something she didn’t want to think about.
Karl’s letters were coming less and less often. No gifts she understood. But a few pennies for a postage stamp?
Then, after weeks of silence, came a letter:
“Dear Edith. I wish there were a kinder way to tell you that we are no longer married…”
Edith walked to the sofa and sat down. He’d written to Mexico for a divorce. It had come in the mail. The woman lived on Okinawa. She was Japanese, Aiko, maid-of-all-work assigned to his quarters.
She was 19. Edith was 48.
Now, if I were making up this story, the rejected wife would feel first shock, then fury. She would fight that quick paper-divorce, she would hate her husband and the woman. She would want vengeance for her own shattered life.
But I am describing here simply what did happen. Edith Taylor did not hate Karl. Perhaps she had loved him so long she was unable to stop loving him.
She could picture the situation so well. A penniless girl. A lonely man who—Edith knew it—sometimes drank more than he should. Constant closeness. But even so (here Edith made a heroic effort to be proud of her husband)—even so, Karl had not done the easy, shameful thing. He had chosen the hard way of divorce, rather than take advantage of a young servant girl.
The only thing Edith could not believe was that he had stopped loving her. That he loved Aiko, too, she made herself accept.
But the difference in their ages, in their backgrounds—this couldn’t be the kind of love she and Karl had known! Someday they would both discover this; someday, somehow, Karl would come home.
Edith now built her life around this thought. She wrote Karl, asking him to keep her in touch with the small, day-to-day things in his life. She sold the little cottage with its view and its snug insulation. Karl never knew about it.
He wrote one day that he and Aiko were expecting a baby. Marie was born in 1951, then in 1953, Helen. Edith sent gifts to the little girls. She still wrote to Karl and he wrote back: the comfortable, detailed letters of two people who knew each other very well. Helen had a tooth. Aiko’s English was improving, Karl had lost weight.
Edith’s life was lived now on Okinawa. She merely went through the motions of existence in Waltham. Back and forth between factory and apartment, her mind was always on Karl. Someday he’ll come back…
And then the terrible letter: Karl was dying of lung cancer.
Karl’s last letters were filled with fear. Not for himself, but for Aiko, and especially for his two little girls. He had been saving to send them to school in America, but his hospital bills were taking everything. What would become of them?
Then Edith knew that her last gift to Karl could be peace of mind for these final weeks. She wrote him that, if Aiko were willing, she would take Marie and Helen and bring them up in Waltham.
For many months after Karl’s death, Aiko would not let the children go. They were all she had ever known. Yet what could she offer them except a life like hers had been? A life of poverty, servitude and despair. In November 1956, she sent them to her “Dear Aunt Edith.”
Edith had known it would be hard to be mother at 54 to a three-year-old and a five-year-old. She hadn’t known that in the time since Karl’s death they would forget the little English they knew.
But Marie and Helen learned fast. The fear left their eyes, their faces grew plump. And Edith—for the first time in six years, Edith was hurrying home from work. Even getting meals was fun again!
Sadder were the times when letters came from Aiko. “Aunt. Tell me now what they do. If Marie or Helen cry or not.” In the broken English Edith read the loneliness, and she knew what it was to be lonely.
Money was another problem. Edith hired a woman to care for the girls while she worked. Being both mother and wage-earner left her thin and tired. In February she became ill, but she kept working because she was afraid to lose a day’s pay; at the factory one day she fainted. She was in the hospital for two weeks with pneumonia.
There in the hospital bed, she faced the fact that she would be old before the girls were grown. She thought she had done everything that love for Karl asked of her, but now she knew there was one thing more. She must bring the girls’ real mother here too.
As the plane came in at New York’s International Airport, Edith had a moment of fear. What if she should hate this woman who had taken Karl away from her?
The last person off the plane was a girl so thin and small Edith thought at first it was a child. She did not come down the stairs, she only stood there, clutching the railing, and Edith knew that if she had been afraid, Aiko was near panic.
She called Aiko’s name and the girl rushed down the steps and into Edith’s arms. In that brief moment, as they held each other, Edith had an extraordinary thought. “Help me,” she said, her eyes tight shut. “Help me to love this girl, as if she were part of Karl come home. I prayed for him to come back. Now he has—in his two little daughters and in this gentle girl that he loved. Help me, God, to know that.”
Today, Edith and Aiko Taylor and the two little girls live together in the apartment in Waltham. Marie is the best student in her second-grade class; Helen’s kindergarten teacher adores her. And Aiko—she is studying to be a nurse. Someday, she and Edith would like a house of their own. At night they sit up late and make plans. Today Edith Taylor knows she is “the luckiest woman on the block.”
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I’ve been the recipient of kindness, and I’ve also been the giver. And I’ve discovered something important: Kindness is a blessing no matter whether I’m giving or receiving.
The beautiful thing about kindness is that it doesn’t have to be something big or expensive to deliver a large impact. Sometimes it’s the little things that pack a wallop.
My husband Paul has delivered kindness to me on so many occasions. One of those moments arrived during a week when I was dealing with some difficult circumstances. I got up one morning and discovered a note on the kitchen counter that read, “I’m praying for you. Love you!” His simple note made me feel cherished, and lifted some of the burden from my shoulders.
Another time, when I was on a tight deadline and facing many long days of work, I woke up one morning and discovered that Paul had gotten up early and emptied the dishwasher, loaded it, wiped off the kitchen counters and had put all the laundry away. His kindness moved me to tears.
I teach quite often at writer’s conferences, and many of the conferees return year after year. I’m always so touched when they bring me gifts. Most of the items aren’t too expensive, but their kindness and the thought and love behind the gifts always melts my heart.
One of my friends brought me a gift for my birthday. She knows I’m frequently at conferences, and she bought me a beautiful lanyard that looks like a necklace. But it was what she said after I opened it that moved me to tears. She said, “I sat and prayed my way around all the beads on the lanyard, praying for you and all your projects.” Such precious kindness!
God says it best. In Colossians 3:12: “Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.” I love the analogy of being “clothed” with compassion and kindness. Imagine how different our world might be if we got up each morning and wrapped ourselves in kindness before we left home.
Ephesians 4:32 tells us, “And be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God in Christ forgave you.” Kindness is a package deal that includes having our hearts tender to others and even (gulp) forgiving others. That can be difficult at times, but it comes into perspective if we really stop to think about how God forgave us.
So that leads to an important question for each of us: What can we do to be kind to someone today? I can promise that we’ll make the recipient’s day better—and in the wonderful way that kindness always works, our day will become better as well.
Last night we ate dinner outside for the first time this summer. As we watched the sun sink towards the palisades across the river, the brightest tint of gold touching the bottoms of the clouds, Timothy said, “I think I saw some cartoon where everybody claps for a sunset.”
“Sort of like clapping for fireworks,” I said.
“But sunsets happen everyday,” Tim said.
We ate our fresh green bean salad and Carol’s risotto, staring at the sky. It was a subtler work of art than the Fourth of July fireworks but no less magnificent. Actually more so because it spread across the whole sky and everywhere we looked the colors kept changing. The fiery globe disappeared from view and like a star who has introduced a tune, the clouds took up the song and riffed on it in their own sky-hogging way. They went from bronze to copper to an impossible purple. By the time you noticed something in one corner there’d be something equally enchanting in another.
“Is this when we clap?” I wondered. It wasn’t like the fireworks. You knew when they were over.
“I guess so,” Timothy said and the three of us gave a quiet round of applause that didn’t sound like much in the patio beside the willow tree. But even then when the clouds turned gray and the color drained from the sky, the water in the river was a brilliant deep blue and the trees were silhouettes. What a beautiful night.
“I don’t think it matters when you clap,” I decided. God’s creation was a long-running show with thousands of new acts to applaud. Thankfulness would work any hour of the day. Still God must like it when we notice his especially florid numbers.
Ever clap for a sunset?
Rick Hamlin is the executive editor at GUIDEPOSTS.
Christmas—a time to celebrate our faith and love with family and friends. We gather to enjoy holiday meals and sing carols; celebrate Christmas tree lightings; watch the joy of children eagerly waiting to open their gifts. But for some of us, the holiday brings up continued conflicts and differences with others. In that case, how would you like to offer some Christmas peace this year?
New York Times columnist David Brooks notes that “at least 27 percent of Americans are estranged from a member of their own family, and research suggests that about 40 percent of Americans have experienced estrangement at some point.” (The most common form of estrangement is between adult children and their parents.)
But making Christmas peace with others (and ourselves) is possible. Why wait?
Reconciliation is one of the best gifts to give and receive, making Christmas a great time to offer an olive branch and end a disagreement. Even the prophets of ancient time described the child to be born as the Prince of Peace. When the angels appeared to the Shepherds in the fields, they declared, ”peace on earth.” Even as we journey through Advent, we light a candle that symbolizes peace.
What can hold us back from offering Christmas peace? It could be stubbornness. Or pride. Someone once wrote, “Pride is concerned with who is right. Humility is concerned with what is right.” Our hurt can also get in the way—wounded people tend to lash out at others.
Granted, it takes spiritual strength along with humility and grace to extend the olive branch. Prayer also helps. “Lord, make me an instrument of your peace…” in the words of St. Francis.
This season, find the courage to make some Christmas peace with your son, daughter, sister, friend or colleague. Pick up the phone, send a text, write a letter. The relationship may be restored or not. But it might go better than you think. You’ll never know until you take a step of faith.
Remember that making peace with others also heals our own wounds. And we discover a priceless gift that makes our lives, relationships and world better.
When I was a teen I worked at a German bakery in Astoria, Queens. We were always busy, particularly around the holidays. That was when I really missed the Christmas treats I’d had as a young girl in Istria.
Our Christmases were usually spent at my grandparents’ home in Pola on the Istrian peninsula. The town had only 30 houses, all along one road. Our Christmas tree was a juniper bush my brother, Franco, and I had chosen ourselves from the woods nearby. We’d tell our grandfather, and he would go back and get the exact one we picked out.
We put the tree in the kitchen. The warmth of the kitchen fire would carry a delicious scent through the house—juniper mixed with the scent of orange peels that my grandma, Nonna Rosa, left drying on the stove to make tea.
Our ornaments were homemade, most of them edible. We baked cookies from pignoli, pine nuts, and hung them on the ends of the tree branches. We strung together dried figs and bay leaves to make little wreaths. And we tied fresh fruit right onto the tree: tangerines, small apples and Seckel pears, all with the stems on. We put tiny candies all over the tree to mimic colored lights; the cellophane wrappers shone like little gems along the branches.
The cookie ornaments were always my favorite. For every one that hung from our tree, there was a missing cookie that found its way into my brother’s stomach or mine.
However, for all our idyllic Christmases, we were living under Communist rule. In 1947, the Italian region where my family lived was ceded to Communist Yugoslavia. Many ethnic Italians in Istria headed across the Adriatic Sea. We stayed put because my mother, Erminia, was eight months pregnant with me. Soon the border was closed. By the time I was nine, my parents had devised a plan to get us out. My mother convinced authorities she had to visit her gravely ill aunt in Trieste. Franco and I were allowed passports, but my father, Vittorio, was not. He escaped by foot weeks later.
In Trieste, we lived in a refugee camp. My courageous parents kept our spirits up. They assured us we’d have a good future in America one day. Finally, in 1958, we emigrated to the U.S.
It was a whole new world, exciting and unsettling all at once. My parents got jobs and we settled in a top-floor walk-up in Astoria. Sometimes my mother worked overtime and didn’t arrive home until well after 6:00 p.m. I was happy to start dinner. My mother would prepare the ingredients and leave things half-cooked, and write a note on how to finish the meal. Eventually I planned the menus. I even incorporated something quintessentially American: a Duncan Hines cake. Nearly every night, my parents came home to its delightful smell. On weekends, I was a typical teenager, dressed in bobby socks and a poodle skirt, listening to Elvis Presley and Frankie Avalon.
During the holidays we continued our old ways of life. On Christmas Eve we made the traditional baccalà, salted cod. And Mom and I whipped up the batter for frittelle, round yeast-risen fried pastries rolled in sugar, a warm sweet before midnight Mass. I knew our relatives in the Old Country were doing the same.
I worked my way through college, mostly waitressing at a pizzeria. With my husband, Felice, I opened my first Italian restaurant, Buonavia, in Forest Hills, Queens. Ten years and another restaurant later, we opened Felidia in Manhattan.
One day Julia Child dropped in for dinner and asked about my risotto, which later resulted in my being a guest on her PBS TV show. What an honor! That eventually led to my own PBS show called Lidia’s Italian Table and many cookbooks filled with the dishes, especially the sweets, I loved.
People are always talking desserts this time of year. “Who has the best recipe for tiramisu?” Or, “This cookie recipe belonged to my great aunt.” I think it’s because sweets—more than any other dish— celebrate an attachment to where we come from. La famiglia, family.
My mother, now 97, lives with me. When my family gathers on Christmas Eve and I heat the oil for the frittelle, I think back to how long we’ve been doing this. Our Old World faith and food traditions are such a big part of us.
“Tutti a tavola a mangiare!” is how I close my cooking shows. “Everyone to the table to eat!”
On Christmas Eve when I serve dessert this request is all the more sweet.
Remember the promises and resolutions we made? It’s been a month since the New Year’s celebration wound down, and in the life of a resolution, a month can be a very long time.
I always look at the turn of the January calendar as an opportunity to re-examine the intention set for the year ahead. Taking an open, positive attitude toward the potential the year still holds, try to assess your resolutions honestly. Here are some ideas on what to do if you’re rocking the resolutions, or if you feel like you’ve lost your footing a bit. Which category do you belong in?
“My Resolutions Are Going Great!”
If you are showing yourself to be a person of your word, there was never a better moment to practice healthy, uplifting self-congratulation techniques. Celebrate your accomplishments so far—and fuel your motivation to keep it up with self-care that is a propos to your achievement. If you’ve exercised three days a week for the whole month, maybe pick up a new workout top to freshen your resolve. If you have been successfully cutting down on sugar, seek out a healthy new dessert recipe to try this weekend. Or, if you are meeting a personal goal—more confidence at work, deeper conversations with family and friends, smarter spending and saving habits, more and better sleep—simply look yourself in the mirror, take several deep breaths and lovingly tell yourself, “You’re doing great. Keep it up!”
“My Resolutions Are Going Less-Than-Great.”
I am a firm believer that it’s never too late to make a resolution reset. If you struggle daily to meet your goal, it might be time to ask yourself—without judgment, please!—whether you were right to make that resolution in the first place. There is no shame at all in either adjusting a resolution (would exercising twice weekly be more accessible to you than three times?) or setting it aside altogether. It can also be helpful to dig deeper than the “doing” part of a resolution, into the reason you set your sights on it in the first place. If eating more vegetables isn’t working for you, for example, maybe you could step back to the larger goal of eating more healthy foods and approach that from a different perspective like fewer processed foods or more lean proteins like fish and tofu.
Regardless of where you are with your resolutions, remember that the year is young! This year could be your most positive one yet.
