100 Books Like Dinner at God's House

There is something so warm and real about this incredible memoir as if I was sitting down with the author, Nancy, and she was telling me her story over tea, and even as the daylight faded, more tea was poured, and the story continued because I wanted to hear more about her late daughter Nicole.

This story is told with such grace that, even for those with different or no spiritual beliefs, the author’s faith in God is simply part of the story and is endearing rather than offensive.

I couldn’t put this book down. It is a well-written, riveting story told by the lawyer who represented the Cruzans in their legal battle to remove the feeding tube from their daughter, Nancy, who had been in a persistent vegetative state for years.

If you enjoy medical and law topics as I do, then you will certainly enjoy this book. Moreover, it made me really think about the ethics of life and death. 

I found this memoir to be truly fascinating, perhaps because I am so interested in the way the mind works, as well as relationships between people.

I was particularly intrigued by the unusual glimpse into the world of mental illness described in great detail from two very different perspectives: the narrator, wife, friend, and caregiver, Monique, and her mentally ill husband, Stewart shared by way of interspersed emails and stories. Even after they divorced, Monique continued to care for Stewart through his mental illness and cancer diagnosis.

I read this book as fiction, being that it is written by a psychic, and I’m still not convinced that anyone knows what exists on the other side. As such, I was fascinated by the wonders and possibilities that are put forth and it was extremely encouraging to me during my time of grief.

My young daughters also loved the “book about heaven” and would insist on me reading parts of it to them at bedtime after their dad died.  

Zippy feels out of sync with friends and family, so she retreats to Red’s Farm to sit by the creek and conjure up some magic. I totally connected with this girl since I did the same thing as a kid…the escape to nature, that is, not so much the magic!

Zippy’s story is endearing and full of wonder. Spunky, intelligent, and thoughtful girls always win my heart, especially when big challenges put these attributes to the test. I loved following Zippy as she worked to solve the mysteries of herself and her world. Oh—and Zippy’s voice is…well, bewitching. 

Gamm’s book goes beyond just a study of urban Jews to juxtapose Jews and Catholics to figure out the paradox of his title. The book cover, just to drive home his point, shows the entry stairs to a flourishing Catholic church filled with people juxtaposed to the front of a massive, abandoned synagogue. Gamm argues for the significance of religion in shaping Jewish and Catholic practices. From the portability of Torah scrolls and the congregational structure of synagogues, Judaism facilitated mobility. By contrast, parish boundaries and a church hierarchy encouraged rootedness among Catholics. It’s a fascinating and persuasive comparison that illuminates Boston but also helps to make sense of other cities. 

Stories come alive when people tell them to each other.

In my mid-20s, I happened upon a weekly gathering in Toronto, “1001 Friday Nights of Storytelling.” In a former synagogue turned art school – with candlelight shining on works in progress – people told old tales, by heart and with heart. This was the beginning of many things in my life, and this is the community that folklorist Kay Stone has written about.

She shows that the Toronto storytelling circle is part of a worldwide movement. She talks with great storytellers and explores favourite stories with them. And she shares her own struggle with a witch story from Grimms’ Fairy Tales, and how, as she told it again and again, she changed the story and the story changed her.

Joseph, a Berkeley student and the son of a Jewish mother and a Muslim father, receives a mysterious package from his estranged father. He embarks on a journey to understand a family mystery that can be traced back a thousand years.

I really cared about all of the characters who strive to lead good lives and demonstrate the many ways in which responsibility, forgiveness, love, and kindness shape the way we see and act in the world. 

“In an earlier life,” Miller writes, “I was a baker, in a bakery on a cobblestoned street.” It takes Miller just one single paragraph to tell this whole tale—how she proofed yeast, how she scraped her spoon, how she made loaves for children: “It was my only kindness.” In every successive chapter—most all of them short, many of them formally inventive—Miller deconstructs her life and soul—the roots of her unease, the startling incidents of loss, her learning to sleep, and her learning to live with the person she becomes. Miller is a stellar choreographer, knowing just where to place which expertly fashioned scene and knowing, always, what to leave out.

In October 2004, I tuned the television to the series, Unsolved Mysteries, to provide background noise while I had lunch.

When George Anderson’s story was featured, I was riveted, and ordered We Don’t Die as soon as the show ended. That led me to a myriad of other metaphysical books and experiences, and a fascination that has not waned in the nearly two decades since I first heard of George and his ability to speak with those who have passed from physical life.

As I have learned over the years, it was not by accident that I saw that TV show. It was a soul signal that I’d set for myself before birth, to guide me to a new phase of my life.