Jamie Janosz

There's this exercise that isn't really an exercise. It's more like an instrument of pain and torture - called the "plank." I found it when I was googling "exercises for women over 50," specifically designed to get rid of that annoying pooch that resides right at my waistline. And I've been doing them. Kind of. If you know what a plank is, feel free to skip to the next paragraph. Basically, you lie flat on the ground (stomach down). This is my favorite part. Next, you place your palms down, keeping your elbows on the floor (this is my second favorite part . . . it gets harder). Then, you push slightly up, raising your chest, torso and legs off of the ground. Use your upper arm strength, your amazing abs, and your toes. Your body should be straight with your stomach sucked in (more than I'm doing in this embarrassing photo), Your torso should be parallel with the ground. Now you count - oh, and don't forget to breathe. This looks amazi...

I remember going to the grocery store after my dad died. I was pushing the metal shopping cart from one aisle to the next, but I wasn't really seeing anything. The world was foggy. As I pushed my cart from aisle 6 to aisle 7 to aisle 8, I eventually ran into someone, rammed my cart smack into their back. The person cried out, and I jumped back, startled. I was so in my own head, in my state of sadness and grief, that the other shopper's reaction came as a surprise. For a moment, the fog cleared. I looked up and realized where I was. A grocery store. I needed milk, and eggs, and butter. Even when my dad had just died of a massive heart attack. How do we process grief in the midst of the mundane? How does the shocking exist among the ordinary? The past three weeks we have been inundated with emotion and horror. Innocent people have been slaughtered. I feel numb, really. I heard the news of 70-something more people killed in Nice, France, and I turned the channel, swit...

In college, my friend Amy and I were shameless Flannery O'Connor groupies.  We were fellow writers and students at a midwest Bible college. In our Creative Writing course, the professor introduced us to many authors we had never read - but Flannery quickly became our favorite. Her characters were unexpected: disturbing, grotesque, and larger-than-life. Yet they were also ordinary - the type of people you might encounter at your local WalMart. They were overweight, loud-mouthed, some suffered deformities, others were drifters. They spoke crassly, and then (often in the same breath) they would speak about God. As she said so well, "The truth does not change according to our ability to stomach it." We had never read faith stories like these. Flannery O'Connor's stories were not the sanctified, made-for-tv Christian-novels we had grown up on by authors like Grace Livingston Hill or Janette Oke. These were rough and tumble, edgy, almost obscene. Ye...

Sitting a midst piles of brown cardboard boxes, I’m the classic “day after move in” mess.  I still haven’t found our microwave or our kitchen table in the packing container, so I’m balancing my computer precariously on my lap and drinking coffee from my rapidly cooling mug knowing there is no chance of reheating. But I am also filled with a thankful heart. God has been with us throughout our cross-country move. Day after day I have seen His provision and His guiding hand, and I am deeply and utterly grateful. Last summer, in the midst of selling our house, I visited with a professor at Moody Bible Institute, Dr. Ron Sauer. I was interviewing him about his practice of praying, daily, for his students. Before classes begin, he walks through the room, stopping at each desk and remembering each of his students, individually, in prayer. He said that he believes that God answers these prayers and cares about each of us, deeply and individually. Then, he asked to...

In my guest blogger series, I've asked some of my favorite bloggers to discuss one of the questions found at the end of my book,  When Others Shuddered: Eight Women Who Refused to Give Up . Today's question is about Sarah Dunn Clarke. Thank you to these fellow writers for participating! Enjoy this essay from my colleague, friend, writer and fellow antiques enthusiast, Kelli Worrall.  Sarah Dunn Clarke was struck by God speaking to her, asking, “What are you doing to decorate your heavenly home?” In our culture, it is not uncommon for women to become obsessed with home décor and cooking. We exchange recipes and crafting ideas on Pinterest and other social media sites. How might our domestic obsessions limit our impact for God? Or can we use them for Him? I made my foray into the world of interior design when I was about four. My mom opened wide the wallpaper book, and I picked a pattern for my room. Pink and blue Holly Hobby dolls for three walls. A coordinating ...

When I was about 8 years old, I remember trying to rearrange my bedroom by myself. My room was the back corner bedroom in our 60s suburban ranch home in Thornton, Illinois. The floor featured 1970s era orange, green, and gold shag carpeting that I had selected. The walls were adorned with matching orange floral wallpaper. Very Brady, all the way. On that particular day, I used all of my skinny might to maneuver my twin bed into a rakish angle. The head of the bed would now be in the corner, with the foot projecting out into the center of the room. Behind the bed was a hidden little triangle where I planned to sit and retreat from the world, absorbing the latest Nancy Drew or Cherry Ames. But moving my bed wasn't just about needing a hiding place, I liked the change. By shifting the furniture in my 10 X 10 foot corner of suburbia, suddenly my room became brand new. This angular perspective created a fresh start. This simple change was thrilling. I've always craved...

I am one of those people who likes, maybe even needs , to see everything clearly. I  like my future planned out neatly before me. When I was younger, I had my future planned out. I was going to be a writer. I was going to get married and have a child or two. Before I married, I wanted to have an apartment of my own in Chicago. I wanted to go to Europe, specifically Paris. I wanted to earn my graduate degree. And, I did most of those things. But, as I walk through middle age, things are not quite as clear as they once were. My eyesight, for one, is shot. Things began to appear significantly fuzzier in my early 40s. I remember eating out in a dimly-lit restaurant and not being able to read the menu. I fumbled for the tiny key-chain flashlight in my purse and muttered, “Why do they print things so tiny!?” When the flashlight didn’t appear, I held the candle inches from the print and squinted. My husband Milt remembers one night when, due to my failing eyesight,...

The first two times I watched the smash hit television series Glee , I hated it. I didn't like the characters or the plot - and, frankly, I found some of it offensive. But this summer, I found it again on Netflix - so, starting from the beginning, my soon-to-be 8th grader daughter and I watched it. I was hooked. I had thought this was a show about high school and singing - and it is. But it is also a show about people who are multi-faceted and quirky - people who don't fit in or who don't think they fit in high school or in society. People like me. I have now watcheed Glee up until mid-season 2. And, while I would still offer some parental cautions abou the show's content - I think there is much about it to love: 1) Will Schuster - Here is a teacher who loves his students. I had a few teachers like this in high school who loved us - and we knew it. One was my English teacher, Mr. Gansauer. We loved to talk to him and listen to his stories. He was funny and sm...