“Kitten,” my mother said to me one day, “you should be my mother.”
I was all of 14 years old, the oldest girl in a family of eight kids. I had dreams of becoming an actor and was painting a rhapsodic picture of my future in the theater when Mother offered her outlandish suggestion. “You’re strong, capable, sturdy,” she said. “You would be a great mother.”
We both laughed at the absurdity of it, the sheer eccentricity, but she went on to say how much she missed having a mother. Hers had died when she was very young. “You can’t get over it,” she said. “It’s a gap you never fill.”
She herself was a wonderful mother, though not much of a housekeeper— the laundry proliferated on top of the washing machine, there was never enough toilet paper or soap, and she hardly looked at what she was cleaning. But she was full of laughter and creativity.
An artist at heart, she converted a bedroom in our rambling house on the outskirts of Dubuque, Iowa, into a studio. The bookshelves were filled with biographies of great painters and plenty of opera tapes: Puccini, Verdi, Bellini, Berlioz. The room smelled of varnish, acrylics and coffee. On top of an old trunk were Mason jars filled with brushes, tubes of oil paints, boxes of pastels. On the walls were quotes written in Mother’s loopy script. “Glory be to God for dappled things,” said one, a line from Jesuit poet Gerard Manley Hopkins.
Mother naturally chose him for inspiration—it suited her fascination with the mystical. She’d go on retreats and have deep conversations with the abbess, Mother Columba, looking for answers. She prayed when times were hard, as they often were, and disappeared into her studio. She could be witty and playful, but then a serious or lost expression would appear on her face, as if she were a million miles away.
Diese Geschichte stammt aus der November 2019-Ausgabe von Guideposts.
Starten Sie Ihre 7-tägige kostenlose Testversion von Magzter GOLD, um auf Tausende kuratierte Premium-Storys sowie über 8.000 Zeitschriften und Zeitungen zuzugreifen.
Bereits Abonnent ? Anmelden
Diese Geschichte stammt aus der November 2019-Ausgabe von Guideposts.
Starten Sie Ihre 7-tägige kostenlose Testversion von Magzter GOLD, um auf Tausende kuratierte Premium-Storys sowie über 8.000 Zeitschriften und Zeitungen zuzugreifen.
Bereits Abonnent? Anmelden
In the Everyday
Cooking, cleaning, breaking up the kids’ fights... If only I had a few minutes for myself!
Worst-Case Scenario?
I’d had nagging injuries before and always recovered. Why wasn’t I confident that I would get better this time?
Honor Thy Son
I was a Marine officer, a lifer—or so I thought. Then came Patrick
Keeping It Real
In an age of social media, we're experiencing an epidemic of loneliness. Two friends who met online tell you how to grow an authentic connection
What You Wish For
She never wanted to see her abusive father again
God's Pillow
In 2016, the Soberanes Fire in Northern California was the costliest ever in the United States. It almost cost me my life, despite the promise I made to my wife
"I Heard You Praying"
As a hospital chaplain, I had seen hopeless cases. But never one more seemingly hopeless than this
"I Love You, Dad!"
Some of your favorite GUIDEPOSTS writers share what they learned from their fathers
Harold and Me
They’re nearly all gone now, the generation we call The Greatest.” This woman’s mission was to honor one of them
The Race Before Her
For this Olympic champion, success bred her greatest fear. How five verses set her free