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Judy

Judith Stagg Fleming (April 21, 1939 - April 25, 2017) Judith Stagg Fleming, 78, of Jonesboro would like to announce her change of address, effective April 25, 2017. To reach her, just think of her when you are in nature or with animals. Her Life’s Journey began... Judy was born April 21, 1939, in Memphis, Tennessee, to Carey and Nadine Stagg of Brinkley, Arkansas. She graduated from Brinkley High School in 1957. Judy received a BSE from Arkansas State University in 1962. While at ASU, she was an ROTC Honorary Cadet, member of Alpha Gamma Delta Sorority, and a Pi Kappa Alpha Sweetheart. In 1959, she was a contestant in the Miss Arkansas Beauty Contest. Traveled Life’s Pathway... After colleg

Coincident? I think not!

When two or more things have happened at one time, I am surprised. I use to call them happenstances, flukes, coincidences. I might have said “uncanny,” noting the timing, the inexplicable. Then I’d dismiss the incident. No more. I now call them God-incidents. On Easter Sunday the grandchildren were sitting with us in church. The special program included a video and songs. Coordination. At one point, the screen showed Jesus on the cross, a storm brewing, thunder and lightning. Then, boom! Outside our country church, a sudden storm! The sky thundered! Talk about synchronization! 12-year-old grandson leaned forward and looked at me. “Coincidence,” he confirmed. I smiled, looking back. “God-inci

Sisters

Are there rules for a blog? I don’t know. If rigid rules exist, I’m probably breaking one right here and now. (Are there blog police? Am I headed for jail?) I’m at my sister’s house where the yardman is trying to take advantage, a toilet is out of order, and the UPS man stops every day with a package of exotic perennials. New house and things are out of sorts, broken, or needing to be put into a pot. Hard work to keep my mouth shut and just flow in her world, whether we talk recipes, medicines, or tax deadlines. Sisters “Well if you want to come, you can.” “Okay. I’m coming tomorrow. I’ll stay three days, two nights.” “Can you stay long enough to go with me to this new doctor?” “Yes, I want

Where Amazing Happens

The dogwoods are blooming. I am returning home this morning from a poetry retreat. A son lives in a town between the retreat site and home. I call him, thinking we might have lunch together. He says, “Haven [my grandgirl] is in the Special Olympics today. Why don’t you meet me at the football field and watch her run a race, throw a ball?” I do not hesitate. After an hour’s drive, I greet my son in the bleachers, settle in, look around. Not your typical players on the field. Wheelchairs here and there. Colorful t-shirts proclaim each Special Ed student to be amazing, a hero, a champion. I read hope on faces. These young people and the adults from Independent Group Homes have as much fight in

The Power of Touch

When doctors are juggling my friend’s meds to find the right balance and she is feeling at her worst, she says, “It is like I’m floating backwards. I have no control.” She goes on to say that my holding her hand helps ground her, that I have become an anchor for her. Maybe you have to become willing to become part of the suffering to hold a hand. When I’ve held a hand or I’ve seen someone else hold a hand at a bedside, I’ve always seen it as loving and caring, but I did not know holding a hand could ground the sick person. Like a rope tethering a boat to the dock, the hand of love may keep a person connected mentally, physically, emotionally, spiritually. Young children are wonderful at reac

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