Page 393 – Guideposts Articles

Mysterious Ways: The Old Lamplighter

Posted on March 10, 2026April 10, 2026 by Jill Davis

I’m not ready to leave, I thought, pacing around our living room. This house had been our home for 10 wonderful years. I didn’t know how my husband, Gary, could sit there on the couch, casually watching a sitcom. My mind skittered from all the things we had to pack to the things we had to sell to everything we’d be leaving behind.

I stopped in front of my favorite painting. A framed Thomas Kinkade scene of old-fashioned thatch-roofed cottages, light and warmth emanating from every window. It always gave me a sense of calm. It had to come with us. I needed to double-bubble- wrap it. Would it survive our 3,000-mile move? Would I?

Early in our marriage, Gary and I moved often, from Missouri to California, before finally settling down in Eugene, Oregon. All our friends were here now. We loved the mountains, the forests, the rambling Willamette River, even the wet winters. But we were getting older. Gary had fibromyalgia, I had arthritis, and we needed to be somewhere with a more forgiving climate.

A real-estate agent had sent us a listing for the Lamplighter, a retirement community in Port Orange, Florida. “You’ll feel like you are on vacation in paradise!” the ads promised. It did look idyllic. We put a deposit on a property there and put our house on the market. I figured I’d have time to get used to the idea. But our place sold almost immediately. We had to be out in less than a month.

I worried about starting over, making new friends at our age. Florida might be a vacation paradise—but would it ever feel like home?

“You okay?” Gary asked, seeing me staring at the painting.

“I just wish I could be sure moving to Florida is the right decision,” I said.

“I know, honey,” he said. “But I don’t think that that painting is going to tell you.” He went back to his show.

I shook my head. That’s when I noticed the words engraved in gold at the bottom of the frame. I leaned in closer to read it.

“Actually, Gary, it has,” I said. “You know what this painting’s called? Lamplight Lane!”

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Mysterious Ways: The Lifesaving Craving

Posted on March 10, 2026April 10, 2026 by Angel Franks

Four hours on the road, crammed into an old Chevrolet with two antsy boys, a fussy two-year-old girl and one very pregnant cat named Midnight–I could use a break to stretch my legs. We all could. But try telling that to my husband, Ernie, behind the wheel.

“Midnight’s acting funny,” my son, Ken, yawned from the backseat. His brother, Jerry, stroked Midnight’s fur, trying to calm her down.

“She’s probably getting ready to have her kittens,” I said, glancing meaningfully at Ernie.

“No stops,” he said. “We’re almost there.”

Whenever we took to the road, Ernie was a man on a mission. Must’ve been a quirk left over from his army days. He was determined to keep us on schedule; no stops unless it was an absolute emergency. Bathroom and snack breaks didn’t count.

There was only an hour left before we reached my in-laws in Georgia. It felt like we’d been driving forever. The kids began to doze off, and though it was only 9 p.m., I closed my eyes too.

A sudden right turn jolted me awake. Huh? It wasn’t our exit, but we were leaving the highway. Was Ernie really pulling over? What was the emergency?

“I’m hungry,” he said, parking the car in front of a Hardee’s. “Let’s get some burgers.”

“What?” I sputtered. “But you… you never stop!” If he’d said he wanted tap dance lessons I’d have been less surprised.

He unbuckled his seatbelt. “Can’t explain it,” he said. “I got a craving.”

We filed out of the car, a little dazed. The boys ran to the bathroom, while the rest of us approached the counter. I was placing our order when I heard the squeak-squeak of Ken’s sneakers against the restaurant’s linoleum floor. He stumbled towards us… and collapsed in Ernie’s arms.

“Ken? Ken?” He didn’t respond. “Call 911!” I screamed.

“There’s another one here, against the wall!” a man shouted. Jerry had passed out too!

An ambulance arrived and rushed us to the hospital. The doctor started all three kids on oxygen. “Carbon monoxide poisoning,” he explained. “Your exhaust must have backed up. If you hadn’t stopped, you wouldn’t have made it another hour.”

Ernie never ate that burger, but his sudden craving was gone. We drove to my in-laws the next morning with our windows rolled down, thankful to be alive.

Oh, and Midnight? Three days later she gave birth to five healthy kittens.

Mysterious Ways: Spared in the Storm

Posted on March 10, 2026April 10, 2026 by Nicole Notare

On October 29, 2012, Superstorm Sandy slammed the Northeast. And like many folks, I won’t ever forget it. More than one hundred people lost their lives. Thousands lost their homes. My Jersey Shore town was dealt a brutal blow and recovery is still a work in progress. But there’s another reason I can’t forget this storm. A moment, actually. One that irrevocably strengthened my faith.

It was 5:00 am, one week after Sandy. “Morning, babe,” my husband, Chip mumbled, shutting off the alarm. “Gonna be a rough one.” Chip’s a police officer and he was gearing up for another 16-hour shift. The night before, a nor’easter had dumped a foot of heavy, wet snow and caused even more destruction.

“You get ready and I’ll clean off your car,” I said.

Outside sirens wailed. Transformers exploded, illuminating the dawn sky in flashes of bright blue and green. Branches and tree limbs crackled and snapped all around our acre lot.

After I cleaned off Chip’s car, I figured I’d do mine too. I started at the front, then stepped around to clear the rear windshield. That’s when I heard a voice: “Move,” it said.

“Move.” The voice was calm. Insistent. It came from inside me, yet it wasn’t my own.

In my seven years at Guideposts I’ve interviewed plenty of folks who’ve heard and heeded an inner voice. I’m strong in my faith, but I’d never experienced it. Was this what they meant? Or was the stress of the storm getting to me? I kept brushing.

“Move.” There it was again! Almost demanding this time.

I’m probably just overtired, I thought, but it can’t hurt to listen. I opened the back door and threw the snowbrush on the back seat.

“MOVE!” This time the voice was urgent. I bolted! I only made it a few feet before I heard a deafening crack behind me. I dove into the snow. CRASH!

I turned around. A gargantuan, seven-foot tree limb, already weakened by Sandy, had grown heavy with snow and ice and finally snapped. It had fallen across the driveway—with such force it split the asphalt.

Exactly where I’d been standing.

Mysterious Ways: Send Me Your Light

Posted on March 10, 2026April 10, 2026 by Kenny Hanning

My pickup’s headlights pierced through the murky twilight as I sped up the country road through the woods. I needed to get home… if home was still there. Up ahead, fallen trees spilled out onto the asphalt like a pile of giant pick-up sticks. I slammed on the brakes. I would have to go on by foot, three quarters of a mile through the debris and the dark. I hadn’t been to church in 40 years, but now I prayed harder than ever. Please God, help me find my family.

Earlier that September evening, four funnel clouds had formed into one massive tornado just outside Nelsonville, Ohio–where I live with my wife and grandson. At the time, TV reports showed the storm was headed straight for my mother’s house, ten miles away. “I’ll come get you, Mom,” I assured her, and hopped in my truck.

I had just arrived there when my mother’s phone rang. It was my daughter calling. “Dad! Thank God you’re all right,” she said. “Is Mom there?”

“She’s at home,” I said. “I just got to your grandma’s.”

“No.” Her voice sounded frozen. “Dad, the tornado changed direction. It… it just hit your neighborhood. I can’t reach Mom on the phone.”

“No, don’t tell me that,” I said. My blood ran cold. I dropped the phone and jumped in the pickup, flooring it home.

Now, I left the truck and climbed and crawled as fast as I could through the thick debris. With a quarter mile to go, the last traces of light faded from the sky. I tripped over tree trunks and jagged remains tore at my legs. I was stumbling blind.

God, I prayed. Send me a light, so I can see my way home.

A hopeless prayer. The tornado had knocked out power everywhere. And yet… I saw a glow beneath a fallen tree, ten feet away. I staggered over and picked it up.

It was a solar powered yard light, blown there from who knows where. I lifted it, and it seemed to shine brighter. So bright that I could finally make out a safe path.

I found my house damaged, but still standing. My wife and grandson were shaken, but okay.

We all went to church that following Sunday, thankful no lives were lost in the storm, and for the guiding light that helped me find home–a light that still burned bright all through the next day.

Mysterious Ways: Rescue at Lake Mohawk

Posted on March 10, 2026April 10, 2026 by Dr. Terry A. Gordon

My wife Angela and our children were deep in slumber when I arose before dawn and walked down to the lake behind our vacation cabin at Lake Mohawk. I began pulling weeds, one of my favorite ways to unwind — quiet and simple compared to my job as a cardiologist. This was just what I needed, a two-week getaway from the stress of 14-hour days, seeing 45-60 patients, with few breaks in-between.

Unfortunately, on the drive down the night before, a disagreement had started our vacation off on a bad note. My mind was running in overdrive as I thought about things that I may have forgotten to do before I left the hospital. My wife interrupted my thoughts. “You know Terry,” she said, “We really need a new vacuum cleaner.”

The last thing I wanted to contemplate at that moment was a vacuum cleaner. Annoyed, I responded: “Angela, I don’t care what you spend. JUST GET ONE!”

I apologized for my outburst, but needless to say, the rest of the trip was a very quiet one.

I’d been down by the lake for several hours when I heard our car start and pull away. Angela, off to get groceries, without saying goodbye. Guess I’m still in the doghouse, I thought.

Several minutes later my daughter, Laila, bolted from the cabin. “Daddy come quick! Mom just called. She’s at the front gate. There’s a man dying and they need you!”

I hopped into Laila’s car and raced to the scene. Arriving there I found a man collapsed on the ground in a full cardiac arrest. I performed CPR until the ambulance arrived. Grabbing their defibrillator, I shocked his chest four times until a heartbeat returned. I rode with the ambulance crew to the nearest hospital. The man’s condition remained grave. But he was alive.

That night, the man’s wife called to thank me. Her husband would be okay. “When you ran up to the scene,” she said, “I just knew an angel had arrived. My family and I have been talking and we want to get you something to show our appreciation.”

“Helping save a life is the most invigorating gift one can receive,” I said. “You don’t need to give me anything.”

“We insist,” the woman replied. “I hope you won’t think it’s odd, but my husband and I work for Hoover — we want to give you a top-of-the-line vacuum cleaner.”

Mysterious Ways: Proof of God’s Provision

Posted on March 10, 2026April 10, 2026 by April Lesher

One-hundred-ninety-three boxes of cereal filled up the storage room of the Canby Center, the Christian community outreach organization and food pantry where my husband serves as director and I volunteer. Cheerios, Corn Flakes, Wheaties, Raisin Bran, Life, Honey Bunches of Oats, every cereal you could think of.

They’d arrived Monday morning by truck, brought to us by the cheerful manager of the Burgerville franchise nearby. “Our cereal box drive was a great success,” he declared. He’d offered a free milkshake to anyone who participated.

My husband thanked him for the generous donation, but as nice as it was, I worried it was a waste. How would we ever distribute so many boxes?

“Be grateful,” my husband told me. “God will show us what to do with them.”

We’re always looking for food donations, but non-perishable items. Canned goods, mostly. We hadn’t asked Burgerville to do the cereal box drive—it had been initiated by another Oregon food bank that sometimes partnered with us.

Instead, I wished they could have collected money for us to put towards our job training programs or our rental assistance fund. That could go a long way in helping the people in need who came to us daily. I wasn’t sure what help cereal would prove to be.

“Well, maybe the cereal can be snacks for our afterschool program,” I suggested, as if that would put a dent in the supply.

Two days later, my husband received an email from a teacher at a nearby public school that matriculated many at-risk kids who came from impoverished homes. “Come take a look, hon,” he said.

“Students on the free meal program aren’t getting enough to eat,” the teacher wrote. Kids were arriving at school without having eaten anything at home. “Lunches are pre-portioned and we have nothing else to feed them.

"Is there any way the Canby center can provide breakfast items for the remainder of the school year?”

My husband smiled at me. “I think I know where we can find 193 boxes of cereal.”

Mysterious Ways: Pennies from Heaven

Posted on March 10, 2026April 10, 2026 by Patricia Redden

I was leaving the restaurant where I work when a glimmer caught my eye. The sunlight reflecting off the face of a shiny penny lying in the doorway. Just a penny, I thought, stepping over it, leaving it for someone else to pick up. I used to believe that “pennies from heaven” were a sign that someone was watching over me. But with all the stress in my life lately, I’d stopped believing in such silly things.

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My husband, Tyler, and I had moved to Hawaii four years earlier, hoping to jumpstart our careers as chefs. Hawaii seemed like paradise at first—the food, culture, natural wonders—but I didn’t anticipate how hard it would be to live 6,000 miles from our family in Delaware. There I worked side by side with my parents in their restaurant. If I was having a hard day, I could always swing by their place for a nice long chat. Not here. “I wish you and Dad were here with me,” I told Mom one night on the phone.

Now Tyler and I had a toddler and a newborn, and I was exhausted from the long days in the kitchen and even longer nights with an infant. Lord, I need some reassurance that you’re here with me, I prayed one night, rocking my son to sleep. When I opened my eyes, I saw a penny lying at my feet.

Over the coming days, it seemed like I found a penny whenever I was feeling exhausted or anxious. I never told anyone about the pennies, but each time I saw one, I felt a sense of peace.

Today however, the restaurant had been crazy, and I was tired from too many nights with little sleep. This penny in the doorway? Just a penny. If God was trying to reach me, it wasn’t enough.

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“You okay?” Tyler asked that night when I got home.

“I guess so,” I said, shrugging. “Maybe I just need some rest.” I hugged him then headed to bed.

The next morning Tyler kissed me goodbye and headed out the door to work. I was pouring myself a cup of coffee when he burst back in. “Honey, you’ve got to see this,” he said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“What?” I said. I followed him outside to the parking lot of our apartment.

Our parking spot glimmered in the sunshine. Walking closer, I saw why. Encircling our car, and only our car, were hundreds and hundreds of pennies.

“Where do you think they came from?” Tyler asked.

“I’m pretty sure I know,” I said, feeling that peace flow through me once again.

Mysterious Ways: Merry Christmas to All

Posted on March 10, 2026April 10, 2026 by Peggy King

Every December our Candlewood Lions Club throws a Christmas party at a local firehouse for the special needs children of Green Chimneys, a residential school. It’s a blast!

I dress like an elf and help Santa pass out presents to the kids. There’s also a magician, a lunch buffet, even a tour of the firehouse. But driving there last year, I was in a panic. We had exactly 40 presents to give–enough for the children we usually expected. Not enough for the 60 we’d just heard would be coming. Too bad the real Santa Claus wasn’t around.

It’s too late to buy more, I thought. The kids will be here soon! For some, those were the only gifts they’d receive all season. Lord, what are we supposed to do now?

Dejected, my husband and I parked the car and walked up the hill to the firehouse. Another man got out of his car at the same time and walked alongside us. When we got to the front door, he looked confused. “Isn’t the vote here today?” he asked us. I knew there was a special referendum up for a vote–but it wasn’t being held here.

“Not at this firehouse. We have a Christmas party today,” I answered. The man shook his head. “I don’t know why I thought it was here,” he said. He looked at us. “If you’re here for a party, why the long faces?”

I told him our problem, even if I was a bit too worried to chit-chat. How could we send a child home without a present?

“How many toys you need?” the man asked. “I may be able to help.” How?

With minutes to spare before the children arrived, the man burst through the door, his arms overflowing with bags of toys. Hurriedly, we piled them on tables and covered them with tablecloths awaiting the moment when our Santa would reveal the gifts. The children were ecstatic. One girl picked an Easy Bake Oven, something she’d wanted for years. “This is the best Christmas ever!” rang throughout the room.

We needed a Santa Claus. We were sent Major Tom Quigley–of the local Marine Toys for Tots program, who had already collected all the presents we needed to give the kids an unforgettable Christmas.

Mysterious Ways: Led by a Divine Sign

Posted on March 10, 2026April 10, 2026 by Kay L. Campbell

I was out running Saturday-morning errands when I saw it: a metal sign at the end of the road. “Trinity Church,” it read, with a long black arrow pointing to the left. Sure, I was looking for a new church, but part of me just wanted to keep on driving. What was the point?

Ten churches. That’s how many I’d visited since I’d moved here to Orange, Connecticut, two years earlier. And none of them seemed quite right. Either the congregation was too large, too small, or I didn’t feel welcomed. Why couldn’t I find a church like the one I’d belonged to in Florida? The one that felt like home, where the parishioners were like family? Now, every Sunday I bounced from church to church, feeling like a fish out of water. Lord, I prayed each morning, please help me find the right place to worship you. I was starting to lose hope. Then I saw that sign…

I couldn’t ignore it. I turned my car around and followed the arrow. About five minutes down the road was a charming red brick church. I jotted down the service times listed out front.

The next morning, I walked into Trinity Church, trying not to get my hopes up. Immediately, the congregation greeted me with smiles as if I’d known them for years. The band played traditional and contemporary music—just like the band at my church back in Florida—including two of my favorites: “How Great Thou Art” and “Celebrate Jesus, Celebrate.” This was it! I just knew. I’d found my church home.

As I was leaving, one of the ushers approached me. “Hi,” he said. “I see you’re new here. How did you hear about us?”

“I’m sorry, Ma’am, you must be mistaken,” he said. “We don’t have a sign on that road.”

On the way home, I drove down the road that I’d taken to the church. There was no sign. None at all.

Mysterious Ways: H Is for Heaven

Posted on March 10, 2026April 10, 2026 by Christa Lyons

The dream felt so real. I was in my childhood home, the townhouse we lived in when we first moved to Virginia. My grandfather was there too.

I could hear a storm brewing. Somehow I knew the house would be flooded. We needed to hurry. As we threw belongings into boxes, Grandpa and I laughed and joked around. Even with disaster looming, I wasn’t worried. Grandpa was the bravest person. He would protect me.

My grandpa was my best friend growing up. My hero. Larger than life. He had been an Army helicopter pilot in Vietnam, and I loved listening to his stories.

But the man helping me pack looked different from the Grandpa I knew. He was a lot younger, with jet-black hair and a mischievous smile—every bit the dashing helicopter pilot I’d seen in photos from his Army days.

“Almost done,” he said. “Just a few more boxes to go!”

All of a sudden, he strode across the room and out the front door. Where was he going? Grandpa would never leave me.

“Grandpa!” I shouted. I ran after him, reaching for the door handle, but a hand closed around my wrist, stopping me. It was my mother.

“You can’t follow him, Christa,” she said. Then I woke up.

I got to the school where I teach, the dream lingering as my kindergarten students filed into the classroom. What did it mean?

Mom called later that morning. Grandpa had died unexpectedly during the night.

I was crushed. The dream—had it been Grandpa’s way of saying goodbye? He’d seemed so vibrant and happy. I tried to take comfort in that.

Still, grief hit me hard. I couldn’t imagine life without him. My first day back at work after the funeral, I arrived early. The substitute teacher had left my classroom spotless. Everything was in its place…except something in the middle of the kids’ circle-time rug. A puzzle piece.

I bent down to pick it up. It was part of an alphabet puzzle, each letter paired with a colorful picture. This piece was H—for helicopter.

I asked the sub about it later. She had no idea how the puzzle piece had gotten there.

I did. I might not be able to follow Grandpa, but he would always be with me.

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Mysterious Ways: Grandma’s Hidden Gift

Posted on March 10, 2026April 10, 2026 by Dee Strickland

Thwack! The 5 x 7 wooden picture frame fell from my desk onto the growing pile of garbage on the floor of my home office. One of the slats popped off. Just as well. There was no photo inside—the old box frame had belonged to my grandmother, Bom Bom, and it had started falling apart years ago. I should have tossed it earlier, but I couldn’t. It reminded me of her.

It was May 10^th, Bom Bom’s birthday, the first since she’d passed away the previous summer. I wanted nothing more than to call her and tell her how much I loved her on her special day. That’s why I was cleaning—to distract myself. I was finally sorting through the bags my husband, Paul, and I had salvaged from Bom Bom’s apartment.

Bom Bom grew up in the Great Depression, but she was as generous with her heart as she was with her gifts. She never had much money, but she always gave what she could to mark special occasions. That old wooden frame? An anniversary gift—she’d put a picture of me and Paul on our wedding day inside. When the slats started coming loose, I took the photo out for safekeeping and asked Paul to repair the frame. He never got around to it.

Tears welled up in my eyes. Time to let it go, I thought bitterly. I collapsed on the floor next to the pile of garbage, crying. The broken frame was a perfect metaphor for my broken heart. Bom Bom was gone.

I turned to grab another trash bag. Hmm, what’s that? I thought. When the frame hit the pile and the slat popped off, the cardboard backing had come loose. Now I could see something was written on it. I pulled the cardboard out.

“To Paul and Dee,” I read. It was Bom Bom’s handwriting. Taped to the cardboard were three $100 dollar bills!

I laughed. Bom Bom had saved her biggest gift for last—at the moment I needed to hear from her most.

Mysterious Ways: Christmas Without Chris

Posted on March 10, 2026April 10, 2026 by Diann Seelbach

Round and round the baggage carousel turned, swarmed by the passengers from our flight to Tampa, all anxiously awaiting their luggage. My husband, Doug, leaned in and focused on the ramp where suitcases thumped and banged onto the conveyor belt. The bright red roller belonging to our son’s fiancée tumbled out, but Doug couldn’t grab it as it whizzed past. Several more bags passed before he managed to wrestle his own off the belt and dragged it over. That’s when we all noticed… the zipper of the front pocket was open. Doug ran his hand inside.

“Chris’s hat is gone,” he said.

Hadn’t we lost enough? We were here to embark on a Christmas cruise, to help us heal, help us move on from the tragedy that had upended our lives just five months earlier. Our son, Chris, had died suddenly from an undetected heart condition. He was only 29, engaged to be married to his fiancée, Lauren, that August. In the aftermath of Chris’s death, Lauren, Doug and I wanted to spend Christmas together, but none of us wanted to spend the holiday at home. We debated whether or not going away would be any better.

It was Doug who’d found the hat. A Detroit Tigers baseball cap. Chris had worn it often, but it had gone missing after his death. Then Doug took Chris’s suitcase out of storage and discovered the cap in the front pocket. To us, it was a sort of sign. We’d go on the cruise with Lauren, and bring a piece of our son with us.

Now we had lost it.

I tried my best to keep it together. Maybe the hat was still on the plane, somewhere in the cargo bay. But still, losing it, even for a little while, brought so much grief back up to the surface. I could see it all over Lauren’s face.

Her expression suddenly changed. A look of confusion. Then disbelief. Then a smile. She ran to the edge of the conveyor belt. What did she see? I followed after her.

It was her red suitcase, the one Doug had missed the first time around. Except this time, perched directly on top, like someone had placed it there, was Chris’s baseball cap.

“My baby wanted to come on this cruise with us,” Lauren said.

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