I was working on my latest writing project, a book about angels, and having strong doubts. It was August, 1991, and there hadn’t been much national interest in angels in many years. I had some heavenly stories to share, but would anyone want to read them?

The doorbell rang and the mailman handed me a small package marked “Fragile.” It was from a fellow author in Canada, which seemed strange, since we only wrote at Christmas, and never exchanged gifts. Her card read, “I think God wants you to have this.” I opened the box and stared at a little angel figurine in a red dress. No one had known about my writing project, yet my friend followed a heavenly nudge, and the signal was clear: “Keep going!” WHERE ANGELS WALK ended up on the New York Times best seller list.

It didn’t take long before readers began sending me angels. Statues, of course, but also angel soap, picture frames, pins, shawls…with the growing interest in angels, crafters were finding new outlets for their designs and “angel stores” were opening. “It used to be that angels were only available at Christmas,” one woman wrote, “but now they’re becoming an industry!” I discovered that there was a national group called Angel Collectors Club of America (ACCA), founded in 1976, to celebrate the enjoyment and existence of angels. (A second club, Angels of the World International, similar in interests, was getting started, and I joined both) In addition to an every-other-year convention, both organizations broke up into smaller geographic groups, and scheduled local meetings when possible.

Many collectors had begun as I did, receiving a gift of an angel for a special event, then wanting another, and another…. But it was not uncommon to meet people who had been collecting since they were children. (These were the Champions—people who, if not restrained by their families, would have built room additions to display their angels!) These folks were occasionally featured in local newspapers, surrounded by their heavenly hosts, which brought new members into the folds.

Unlike many collections, angels are so diverse that almost everyone can find something to enjoy. I noticed that some members focus primarily on specific types of angels, such as the birthday series (one statue per month) or a popular set of boy angels, each playing a different sport. One woman collects angels with red hair, and others concentrate on cats or frogs! As well as figurines, specialty collectors look for vintage angel cards, buttons, cookie tins and jewelry (the thrill is in the hunt.) Angel fabric is also popular. “I couldn’t resist it even though I don’t sew,” said one woman, holding yards of angel-embossed lace. Chances are, she’ll find a fellow collector who wants it.

The majority of ACCA members, however, have eclectic collections rather than sticking to just a few categories. Looking around my office right now, I see two angel mobiles, some framed art, a Victorian lady and a doll from Kansas whose wings are made out of straw. My shelves are filled with angel books, as well as glass and paper ornaments for decorating at Christmas. Such diversity is the norm.

A typical collection among ACCA members will range from a few hundred to a thousand or more items. Usually, they cannot all be displayed at the same time. Julie Henrickson, ACCA’s current Activities chairperson, rotates her angels for whatever holiday is approaching. “I have angels for Christmas, Valentine’s Day, Easter, Halloween and Thanksgiving,” she says. “There’s enough to be always putting different ones out.” Sue Vecchiarelli, vice-president of AWI, keeps hers displayed permanently in a “huge curio bursting at the seams.” Members share poetry, book reviews, recipes, and garden tips, and search for items needed to complete a project—all angel-related. There is also the Halo newsletter, which keeps us informed about events, new products and members who need prayers and Get Well cards. And when ACCA members raise money, it’s donated to their official charity, The Make-A-Wish Foundation.

I probably should have kept an orderly record and description of each angel as it joined the others in my house, as a true collector does. But no matter how many I have, that first little sculpture from my “earth angel” in Canada will always have the place of honor. Like the heavenly messengers, it changed my life.

ACCA $20 annual dues

Pauline Neff, VP

mandpneff@q.com

AWI $20 annual dues

Sue Vecchiarelli, VP

suzvecang@yahoo.com

For a Mom who loves to laugh, a copy of my latest book, MOMS GO WHERE ANGELS FEAR TO TREAD might be the perfect Mother’s Day gift. Just click on www.amazon.com, and type the book title in the long space.

Eva and her mother were at the hospital, sitting at the bedside of her father.  He was very ill and hadn’t spoken in several days, and although she and her mother had prayed so hard, it looked as if her father was not going to recover.

“Suddenly Dad began speaking, and praising the Lord!” Eva said.  “It seemed as if he was seeing Jesus.  Less than a half hour later, he died.”  As machines shut down, several nurses came into the room to check his pulse and do a final examination.  Eva’s mother was devastated, so when the nurses left the room, Eva went with them.  She thought her mother might need some time alone.

Eva, of course, was also grieving, but that memory of her father’s vision had made her feel—almost joyful. What had he seen during those last moments? Soon she went back to his room, but now there was another nurse there. Eva hadn’t seen her on any of the shifts, and although she wore an identification tag, there was no name on it.  The nurse was talking quietly with her mother, and whatever the nurse was saying was having a calming effect. “I listened for a few moments-—it seemed as if they were talking about the Holy Spirit—and then I left again and walked down to the nurses’ station.”

A nurse that she knew gave her a hug.  “I’m sorry about your father,” she said.

“Who is that new nurse in his room?” Eva asked.  “She’s certainly making my mother feel better.”

“There aren’t any new nurses on this shift,” the woman told Eva as she flipped through the charts.  “Just us.”

“But….”  By now Eva knew each nurse on each shift.  Nor had she seen anyone entering her father’s room, or coming out of it. And when she returned to the room, her mother was alone.  “Who was that woman talking with you?” Eva asked.

“A new nurse,” her mother answered.  “She was very kind.  She just left.”

But Eva had been watching the doorway from her post at the nurses’ station.  No one had come out during that time, and she hadn’t passed anyone when she went back into the room.

“Then I realized that God had sent an angel to comfort my mother,” Eva says. “I believe with all my heart that angels come when we are in trouble, sick or sad, whenever we need to be strengthened for what lies ahead.” The following days were difficult, but hopeful. Eva knows she will see her father again.

Hello, angel friends.  Hope the holidays were blessed, and that you are back to normal, whatever that is.  Of course we are concerned about all the negatives in the news—the suffering in Haiti, the Christmas bomber, the direction in which our country seems headed, our own financial difficulties…  But this is the best time to let God lead, to listen carefully to His whispered words, and believe that He keeps his promises.  Let us do the best we can for those who need us, and remain calm.  This story isn’t over yet.

We’ll cach up on announcements next time.  For now, here’s a story of hope:
Marie Vincze was driving on a lonely ten-mile stretch of red clay road to drop off her teenage daughter at a wilderness camp.  It was hard enough to keep the car on the slippery mud and not end up in a ditch, but her three young boys were bouncing around in the back seat, and the noise was deafening.  “Pray,” she heard the word in her heart just as the car slid off the road and came to a stop, its wheels stuck in the clay.

“Oh, no!”  Marie opened her door and realized that the mud was almost up to the floorboard.  There was no way they were going to get out of here without help.

“I could have panicked, but I decided to have faith instead,” Marie says.  She turned to the three boys, now completely silent, and said, “Sing your Sunday School songs—right now!—and don’t stop until I tell you to, no matter what!”  Beside her, her daughter rolled her eyes.  This girl believed in nothing at the moment, unless she could see and hear it.  But right now, Marie had to pray.

“God,” she began, “please remember Psalm 91 and let the angels bear us up.  If I ever needed help, it’s now!”  The boys continue to sing, and Marie felt peace spreading over all of them, warming their souls.  Very slowly the back of her small car lifted.  Marie did not ask questions—she gassed the car and somehow drove out of the ditch.  The boys cheered.

“Boys, look back and see what an angel looks like!” Marie cried in delight.

“Momma, we can’t see anything,” the oldest told her.
“Well, it’s enough that he is here for us,” Marie pointed out.
“Oh, Momma…” her skeptical daughter started, but Marie interrupted.
“Don’t say anything negative. Just sit there and observe.”

The boys continued to sing, as they traveled on.  Marie was still praying.  “Lord, I hate to bother you, but there’s a cement road coming up. It goes over a creek, and the embankment is red clay.  It drops off on each side, and I’m a little worried….” Fear gripped her for a moment as they approached the trouble spot.  “Sing louder, boys!” she told them.

Taking a deep breath, Marie sped down the crossing, gunned the engine, shot up the embankment…and lost control of the car.  “We started to tip over the embankment,” she says, “and then I heard a gentle tap on the car, and it moved into the center of the road,” Marie says.  “It veered to another drop on the opposite side, and again it was tapped, and it straightened up.” 

Again the boys cheered, and Marie gave thanks as she made it across.  She wondered how her nonbelieving daughter was handling this wonderful occurrence, but there would be time to talk about it all later. 

In just a few minutes, the car pulled safely into the camp parking lot, and Marie sighed with relief and opened her door.  The mud, she noticed, had seeped all the way inside to her floorboards.  Well, mud was easily removed.  She got out, went around to the trunk and stopped in astonishment, as the children gathered around her.  “Mom, look!” one of the boys pointed in awe. 

There on the back of the muddy car window was a large man’s handprint.

“God does indeed give us a hand in our daily lives,” Marie says, “and thank God for guardian angels.”

 
Know a Mom who needs to laugh? Check “Moms Go Where Angels Fear to Tread” on the website: http://joanwanderson.com

By the time Alice left to return home, it was starting to get dark.  More confident now, she hopped on the first bus, and got off at the University where she had to transfer to the second one. She waited an hour-and-a-half, as snow started to fall, but the second bus never came. She didn’t know then that on Sundays, the last bus on that route came at 4 p.m. She had missed it completely.

“It was getting very windy, and drifts were making streets treacherous,” Alice says.  “Walking home was out of the question because it was too far. I went to the Education building behind me,and was glad to find that the front door was still open. Now I could warm up, and call my dad to come and get me.”

However, that was a problem too.  Alice’s dad didn’t always come to his children’s rescues. “you got yourself into this, so you can get yourself out,” he would tell them.  And he would probably be angry that she interrupted her parents’ afternoon get-together. She hated it when he got mad…  But what else could she do?

Cell phones were not available yet. Instead Alice searched in the deserted Education building for a pay phone. Her father had never been on the university campus—how was she going to direct him, if he agreed to come?  She didn’t even have the address of this building. And where was everyone?  She had walked down several corridors and heard no noise of any kind. She turned yet another corner—and there was a bank of pay phones!  Relieved, Alice started searching her pockets for change.  She couldn’t believe it!  She had NO coins, only a transfer ticket for the bus. Now what? “Fear gripped me,” Alice says.  “It was completely dark outside by now.  I broke out in a sweat and started to pray, begging God for his help.”  Would she have to spend the night in this building, huddled in a corner?  Her parents would be worried sick when she didn’t come home.  A dime!  That’s all she needed, but it seemed impossible.

Alice prayed again, and had just started to cry when out of nowhere—-”and I mean nowhere!” she says—a young handsome man approached her. He was dressed in jeans, a long sleeve shirt and woolen vest. No coat in this storm, no snow melting from his hair…  He looked right in Alice’s eyes and smiled. “You look like you could use a dime,” he told her.

Stunned, Alice nodded.  How did he know?  And where had he come from?  She watched in disbelief as he dropped a dime into her hand. “Oh, thank you!” she said, turning immediately to the phone right behind her.  How had he arrived without her hearing him?  She looked back to ask him.

But there was no one standing there, no one walking away or turning down the long hall in front of her. The young man had completely vanished.  How….?  She dropped the precious dime into the phone slot and dialed her new home phone number.  Thank heavens she had remembered it! “Dad answered and I explained my problem,” Alice says.  “All I could do was tell him to look for the Education building.” Dad hadn’t sounded mad, not yet anyway.  But Alice was too amazed over the sudden appearance of the young man to worry about anything.

It took about 30 minutes before Alice’s father drove up in front of the building where she was waiting to flag him down.  Even though visibility was very poor, he had found her!”I was so glad to get in the car and sit beside dad,” Alice recalls.  “He could barely see the street signs, but we arrived home safely.”  Furthurmore, Alice’s father. didn’t scold her at all, or even complain about the treacherous ride.  He was just grateful to have her home safely.

“I know without a doubt that the Lord sent me two angels that day,” Alice says. “The handsome young man probably was my personal guardian angel, and I hope he is still watching over me.” The other angel? The most important man in her life, her hero, her Valentine.  Whether your dad is still on earth or home in heaven, don’t forget to send him a special Valentine this year.  Like Alice’s dad, he may not have always told you how much he loved you.  But he showed you—and that’s what counts.

Just letting you know that I am no longer traveling to do speeches.  However, there are still people in the Chicago area who are interested, and I will also list radio interviews if I have enough time before the broadcast.  Here is a loose schedule, with more details to come:

–Sunday, March 7, 1 pm talk followed by signing, Fundraiser for St.Raphael Parish,  Antioch IL

—Saturday, April 17, 2010 9 a.m. - 3 p.m. Mayslake Ministries’ Spring Lecture Series presents: “Rediscovering the Angels in our Midst” Double Tree Hotel, 2111 Butterfield Road, Downers Grove, IL 60515Cost is $65/$55 for seniors, clergy, religious & students,Lunch included, books available for purchase and signing

People all over the world seem to be fascinated by angels. In “Rediscovering the Angels in our Midst”, Joan Wester Anderson will discuss how she became interested in the subject of angels through a strange rescue that her son experienced, and subsequently wrote a best-selling eight-book series about angels and miracles.

Info/registration: www.mayslakeministries.org or call 630-268-9000

—Thursday May 13,  7 pm mass, talk, St mary’s W. C. Buffalo Grove IL

—Saturday May 15, 2010 Luther Village luncheon and talk, Arlington Heights IL

—Saturday September 18 Elgin Community College

]]> http://joanwanderson.com/2010/01/upcoming-events-3/feed/ http://joanwanderson.com/2009/12/story-of-the-week-december-18-christmas-comes/ http://joanwanderson.com/2009/12/story-of-the-week-december-18-christmas-comes/#comments Fri, 18 Dec 2009 18:55:02 +0000 admin http://joanwanderson.com/?p=935 Hello, angel lovers.  This is the last of our stories for 2009.  Is it my imagination, or did this year fly by?  We
have a serious prayer need this year: our friends, the Cayces—who we help support in Thornton, Arkansas—have a son Daniel, who is himself an earth angel.  Many of us have watched him grow up, and develop ministries there, collecting blankets, baby food and toothbrushes as his special projects.  He is now a junior in college, looking forward to starting pre-med.

Recently Daniel had what the family thought was flu, but it got worse and when he was taken to the hospital, a smart doctor in the emergency room did a CT scan, which showed that Daniel had fluid around his heart, which was making it beat 200 times per minute.  They airlifted him to another hospital, where a heart team waited for him. No heart surgery but he was in Intensive Care for five days.  When he did finally get back to school, the same thing happened and he had to return to the emergency room.

Needless to say, the family was not able to get the news around to everyone, but they are convinced it was prayer power that kept Daniel from dying.  In fact, they have been told that the e.r. doctor probably saved his life.  He is back at college (probably finishing his finals) and is okay but very tired.  How the family will bring Christmas to the people there this year is anyone’s guess.  Obviously we need prayers for this fine young man and his wonderful family, as well as prayers for those who depend on the Cayces.  Let’s send some extra angels to Thornton this year.  And here’s our story:

“When you were a little girl, Grandma, was there a Christmas?” my granddaughter asked one December day as, heads together, we read a book about the season.

“Why of course!” I laughed. “There’s always been Christmas, honey, ever since Baby Jesus was born.”

“What was it like-—your Christmas?” she wanted to know.  And I set the book down for a moment as the sounds and scents and the magic of long ago crept into the room…

Christmas started back then, strangely enough, with the aroma of wet wool.  Scarves and mittens dampened by the first snowfall and hung to dry over steamy school radiators somehow signaled the beginning of the season.  As the scent stole across the classroom, we children would catch each other’s eyes, unspoken understanding passing among us.  It was the beginning.

From wool, we progressed to boots, not the sturdy leather footwear that today’s children use, but floppy rubber overshoes clanking with metal buckles, fitting snugly over oxfords or saddle shoes—if one tugged hard enough.  In every home in mid-November, the same scenario ensued: locate the stored-away boot box, drag it to the drafty back hallway, measure which child would be promoted to which pair—and caution children to wear the contents Every Day.  We didn’t mind. It was another ritual, another step in the dance.

Then slowly, almost without notice, the trappings of Christmas began to appear.  Store windows took on a  dusting of artificial snow, an occasional red ribbon or evergreen bough, very often, the beloved manger scene itself.  Lights sparkled over the front door of the village hall while local firemen hung stockings from the mantelpiece behind their engines.  Wreaths, hand-drawn in colored chalk, festooned the school blackboards, and the faint sound of carols drifted across the snowy landscape.  No raucous commercialism, no hucksters exhorting us to “Buy, buy!”– just a simple but growing awareness of the time that was to come.  And we children watched, and held our breath and waited.

Christmas came in bits and pieces in those days, changes in our routines that whispered rather than shouted.  An extra delivery of coal to ensure a warm house for the visitors who would share the day. Sledding on the big hill, then coming home in the late-afternoon dusk for warm soup, and hearing the rustle of tissue paper behind Mother’s closed bedroom door.  The soft aroma of sugar cookies unexpectedly mingling with breakfast oatmeal and toast.   In the Chicago area, the radio program “The Cinnamon Bear,” faithfully reviewed each day on our walks to school.  Being asked to accompany Dad on an evening shopping trip, the sound of our boots squeaking on the packed snow, the thrill of being out after dark with the most important man in our lives.  Those pleasures were as much a part of the awareness of Christmas as bells and candles and holly.

And then one day, at last, the tree.  Pine-scented needles scattering across the kitchen floor,  Dad carried it to its place of honor in front of the window so we could share its beauty with all who passed.  First, the lights, then the delicate colored balls, and the tinsel which we hung one strand at a time in a shimmering waterfall.  The angel at the very top and finally the crèche in the place of honor, its chipped statues heralding memories of Christmases past.  “And it came to pass…” someone would read the comforting words that gave the season its true meaning.

The countdown began in earnest now.  Five days…four days… Hurriedly we completed our own shopping —a comb for a favorite aunt, a candle for Grandpa—and stored our wrapped cache under our beds, understanding again the joy of giving. Three days…two..the turkey on the cold back porch. Quick errands, candles, stockings that didn’t have holes (my brother hung a kneesock), cookies for Santa, and the feeling that one’s heart would burst..

And finally, on a cold dark morning, my siblings, wrapped in flannel bathrobes, bouncing on my bed in excitement.  “It’s Christmas!” they were shouting.  “It’s here!”

The remembered wonder gripped me again as I sat in my own living room, my own grandchild listening in delight.  “It came!” she exclaimed.  “Your Christmas always came!”

And yours will too, I told her silently.  Oh, the trappings will be different from the slower days of my childhood.  You will have frozen turkey breasts, TV commercials, a wrapping service at the local mall—by-products of a more modern age.  But beneath the gadgetry and clamor will be the same holy Child, the joy at his arrival shared by millions, past, present and yet to come.

For Christmas is excitement and anticipation and wonder, the secrets, the smiles, the sharing.  It’s the message of the little King repeated down through the ages, the message of hope and peace, renewed again in a troubled world. The message that keeps us believing in the magic of love.

“Yes,” I told my granddaughter, “Christmas will always come.  For what would we do without it?”

]]> http://joanwanderson.com/2009/12/podcast-2-joan-on-spirited-talk-today/feed/ http://joanwanderson.com/2009/12/podcast-1-joan-on-spirited-talk-today/ http://joanwanderson.com/2009/12/podcast-1-joan-on-spirited-talk-today/#comments Wed, 09 Dec 2009 21:37:49 +0000 admin http://joanwanderson.com/?p=927 Podcast #1: Joan on Spirited Talk Today - run time 22:45

]]> http://joanwanderson.com/2009/12/podcast-1-joan-on-spirited-talk-today/feed/ http://joanwanderson.com/2009/12/upcoming-events-2/ http://joanwanderson.com/2009/12/upcoming-events-2/#comments Fri, 04 Dec 2009 19:36:08 +0000 admin http://joanwanderson.com/?p=924

]]> http://joanwanderson.com/2009/12/upcoming-events-2/feed/ http://joanwanderson.com/2009/12/story-of-the-week-december-4-2009-angels-in-the-store/ http://joanwanderson.com/2009/12/story-of-the-week-december-4-2009-angels-in-the-store/#comments Fri, 04 Dec 2009 19:14:39 +0000 admin http://joanwanderson.com/?p=918

We certainly want to do God’s will, but many times we are not exactly sure what that is! We’re clear about the Ten Commandments and other rules of good conduct. But what if we’re making a decision about a move or a job? Perhaps it is simply our desire that is important. If we are trying to follow His lead, we can make mistakes and still be right. Mary Mullins of Modesto, California, knows this for sure.

Five years ago, Mary’s husband, Johnny, was laid off from his job as controller of a local company. He was given some notice, so the couple had a little time to think about what they would do. From the time they were a young married couple living in Ireland, they had dreamed of owning their own business. Was this the time to start? “We looked at our strong points to see if we could turn these into a business,” Mary says. “Johnny had expertise in accounting and business management, and I had a passion for art, especially religious art and stained glass. After some research and much prayer, we felt that God was calling us to begin our own art glass studio, creating original art work.” They named their new business Valley Rose Designer Glass, “Valley” because they now lived in the San Joaquin Valley, and “Rose” to honor both St. Therese and Our Lady under her title of “Mystical Rose.”

Things started out well. Their storefront had once been the site of an occult and magic shop, but their pastor blessed it, and the grand opening went smoothly. Mary and Johnny attended home improvement shows, advertised and dedicated every piece of work, no matter what the subject matter was, to God. However, as time went by, they encountered obstacles they were not prepared for. “We were naïve about some business practices,” says Mary, “and a few times we did not get paid for our work even though we had signed contracts.”

At the end of their first year, they were feeling a financial pinch, and Johnny went to Ireland for a temporary consulting job. When he returned, he realized that he had to go back to full time work. He got a job that paid half of what he had been earning. And Mary began to doubt. “Perhaps we had not done the right thing, perhaps I had misunderstood the direction that we believed God had given us.” As Christmas approached, her spirits sagged.

During the first week of December, a lady came into the shop. Her husband was of Welsh ancestry, and she wanted to commission a large glass replica of his coat of arms, which she could hang in front of a window in their home. It was to be a surprise Christmas gift for him.

Mary was excited, not only at the project, but at the good fee which would make Christmas a bit brighter! However, a few days later when the woman came in to see the preliminary drawing, she was quite upset. She had given Mary dimensions for a vertical window when she really needed a horizontal window. She was very upset at her own mistake and wanted to cancel the project. Mary was upset too—she had put a lot of work into creating a full sized drawing/pattern, and was looking forward to working on it. She asked the customer to go home and re-measure her window, call with the new data and give her a few hour to possibly redesign everything. Then she prayed and asked Our Blessed Mother and her guardian angel for help.

She was busily drawing in the workroom when she saw two men entering the front part of the shop. Mary saw only their backs at first; they were dressed in construction work clothes, and one was tall and slender, while the other was shorter and stocky. She came up behind them and said hello. Before they turned around one of them said “You’ve got some beautiful glass here.”

“Well, thank you,” Mary answered.

The taller man turned to face Mary. “He had a beautiful face, masculine but still beautiful and deep brown eyes,” Mary says. “I noticed that although the men had probably just come off of a job site, they and their clothes were very clean.”

“Do you do this yourself?” the taller man asked.

“Yes,” Mary said. “My husband helps me.”

“I used to do this type of work for my father.” He was smiling at her. She smiled back.

“It is hard to describe,” Mary explains, “but there was something in the sound of his voice and in the way he looked at me. I was no longer upset about the events of the morning. Then he said, ‘Keep up the good work.’ He put out his hand to me and said, “My name is Michael.” Then gesturing to his companion, he said “This is Max.”

Mary shook Michael’s hand and as she turned to shake Max’s, she noticed that he wore a large rectangular medallion of Our Lady of Guadalupe around his neck. When she saw the medallion, it was as though a light went on. As the men left, she went back to the workroom, where her husband was pouring her a cup of tea. “I think we have been visited by angels,” Mary told him. He just smiled.

The customer who wanted the coat of arms returned later, and was very happy with the new drawing. Her window was completed on December 23rd, giving both families a very happy Christmas.

“Nearly three years have gone by since that December day and business is still tough,” Mary says. “But God always gives us just what we need when we need it. I know now the art work was never meant to be the main source of our support, but rather a special act of love and trust, and so we continue.” Sometimes the memory of Michael and Max comes to mind too, bringing a deep sense of peace and gratitude to God, all year long.

You still have time to order Joan’s latest book for Christmas giving. Check the website at http://joanwanderson.com and follow the order directions for Moms Go Where Angels Fear to Tread. ($13.00) <~><~><~><~><~><~><~><~><~><~><~><~><~><~><~>

Copyright 2009 by Joan Wester Anderson. Published by Joan Wester Anderson, P.O. Box 127, Prospect Heights, IL 60070. For more stories of God’s love, check the blog at http://www.joanwanderson.com