Calling it like it is
I had been a disobedient teenager, eager to rebel against authority. I resisted my parents and the church. But interestingly, the only adult I could really talk to was our Presbyterian minister, Dr. Moffatt. We met recently to celebrate his 99th birthday. He surprised me by saying that he had ever considered becoming a politician to impact people’s lives. “But you have impacted many lives,” I responded. “Take me; do you remember how unpleasant I was? “Oh, yeah,” he said, smiling. “Do you remember being the only person who made me feel accepted and good?” He nodded. Then, looking at me intently, he said, “Lee, it’s called love.” — Lee Guthrie
the girls
I left him 10 years after our marriage. Anger, stubbornness, hurt, and my alcoholism marred the end of our otherwise fairly good relationship. Going through the thick mire of resentment, we often fought. But the girls? We never once argued that they should come first. Five years of healing later, at every drop-off and pick-up when they eagerly run into the arms of whoever the parent is who will “catch” them next, I thank my higher power that it was you who held my body in the birthing tub when We welcomed our daughters. the world. — Emily O. Power
Almost exactly correct
My mother, Lurilee, married at age 33, quite old for the 1980s. She often advised me, “There’s no rush. Finding the right man is worth the wait.” I’m getting married at 35, not young, not even for the 2020s. My mother died from the coronavirus just weeks before I was able to meet my fiancée. She so wishes she could tell my mother that her advice was almost exactly right: there was no rush and it was worth the wait to find the right woman. — Audrey Springer-Wilson
An unexpected message
I flipped through my diary and took stock of the year 2023 with a touch of disappointment. I wrote sparingly and abandoned too many resolutions mid-stream. I haven’t been meditating, nor have I managed to read two books or attend four exercise classes a month. What have I been doing with my days? I flipped through the remaining pages. One stopped me. My husband and I have been teaching Anya, our 5-year-old daughter, to write, and we celebrate each new word she learns. Unbeknownst to me, she had written some words in my diary: “I love you mom.” After all, 2023 had been significant. — Simi Rosa George
