Jamie Janosz

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 Amanda Berry Smith. Thank you to these fellow writers for participating! Enjoy this essay from my beautiful and talented friend, writer and blogger, Amanda Cleary Eastep.  Amanda Smith felt completely alone following the death of her baby, Will. At that very moment, God sent a friend to give her needed money. Why are women’s friendships so crucial? How have friends ministered to you in times of need? There seems to be something noble about dealing with loss when something is taken from you that you have no control over , like your health or a loved one. All hearts mourn with you. Friends surround and uphold you; they offer comfort, home-cooked meals, and fundraisers. And that is as it should be. But when loss is the consequence of our failure, of d...

The yellow light on my car’s dashboard illuminated just as I was turning onto Route 30 for my Saturday morning grocery dash. My heart sank. This was not the first time that pesky glowing signal had appeared. I had already had our Kia Soul into the dealer’s repair shop three times. When I first saw that strangely shaped yellow light, I frantically dug the user manual out of the glove box, trying to decide what that little puzzle shape represented. Ahhhh. Check Engine. “This indicates a concern with the emission system. Take it to the dealer as soon as you are able.” May I just say that I hate having things go wrong with my car. It throws my life out of kilter. My husband gets all cranky and irritable, and my already-busy schedule has to be adjusted. Suburban moms depend on our vehicles. We shuttle kids to activities, load up groceries, head to work, or make our requisite stops at Target. I have absolutely no time for disruptions – yet, here it was. Later that day, the ...

  We’ve all seen those photos of a screaming child sitting on Santa’s lap. In fact, I have one of them. My daughter was about five years old – and, every Christmas, she had steadfastly refused to get her picture taken with Santa. While she would read Christmas stories about him, write him letters, and even set out cookies by the fireplace, she was terrified by the actual living breathing guy in the red velvet suit. One year, thinking that we were being clever, my husband and I took her to Chicago’s Christkindlmarket – a traditional German festival with small wooden huts and holiday treats for sale. My husband I learned that one of the huts contained a Santa. As we strolled through the village, we noticed that there was no one in line. Casually, we entered the booth – and my daughter came face to face with Santa. I plopped her on his lap – in what probably was a cruel motherly move – and let the photographer snap the now treasured photo of my cute little girl scream...