I worked at Glenbard South High School, Glen Ellyn. From Elmhurst, I took the cloverleaf off Route 83 to head West on Roosevelt Road. I always had to slow down and remind myself, “this is a tricky turn”. Over 30 years ago I was driving a Camaro that had zero traction in the snow. I always placed a 40-pound bag of dog food in the trunk to provide enough traction. Don’t you know, I started to skid. I was on the edge and out of control. I yelled, “Oh God. Help!” My car straightened out, I regained control and 30 years later I can’t go by that spot without saying, “Thank you, Jesus.” I imagined that He provided the 40 pounds of traction because the bag of dog food was nowhere in sight.
Dad shocked the hell out of me when he said, “When I pray, it’s to get all my kids into Heaven. If they are not working themselves there, then I ask Jesus to come and get them now before they tarnish themselves even more.” I think about this often. Dad was clever enough to eliminate the guilt of being sinful. Did he really mean it? My father was saying he would rather have his children die than lead sinful lives. What a unique way to make me think about my relationship with Jesus. As a teenager growing up on a dairy farm in Northern Vermont, this message had a profound influence on me. I watched him, and defiantly said in my teenage voice, “Prove it.” And, he did.
It all starts with a loving family, and that was her blessing and privilege. Grandparents, loving and hardworking parents, and the good old-fashioned Irish neighborhood of Chicago’s Austin Boulevard cement her values and outlook on life. Her Irish girlfriends went to church faithfully, and Marysue always tagged along.
What is it about me, Lord, that scratches my soul, tenses my shoulders and lets me fall asleep with clenched hands? I’m in my early 60s, single and have what’s expected for a woman my age—a college education, a supportive family, nice physical features and some income. My bi-polar disease is well controlled—so why am I not happy?