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Guideposts Classics: Al Roker on the Miracle of Childbirth

Posted on by Al Roker

You’ve probably noticed—if you start your morning watching me on the Today show—that I don’t take up as much of the screen as I used to. Not since I had my stomach stapled. It’s a very risky operation that I don’t recommend for everyone. But I was willing to take my chances, as much for my family as myself. I want to be around for them as long as I can.

My wife, Deborah—who’s a correspondent on 20/20—and I had been married for about a year when we decided to have a child. We already had an adopted daughter, 10-year-old Courtney, from my previous marriage.

To me, there is no difference between “natural” and “adopted.” My own childhood showed me that when it comes to loving your kids, concepts like that don’t apply. I was the oldest of six, and three of my siblings were adopted. Mom and Dad even took in foster children. “There are no limits to how much you can love,” Dad always said.

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Dad would do anything for us. He’d get up early and leave our house in Queens to go to work as a New York City bus driver. He put in back-to-back shifts and took odd jobs to provide for us. But to him it wasn’t work; it was an expression of his love. And the more kids, the more love.

That’s why I wanted to have a child with Deborah. But try as we might—for more than a year—she didn’t conceive. “This is taking longer than it should,” Deborah’s ob/gyn, Dr. Janice Marks, told us. “Let’s get you both tested.”

The problem was me. I was more relieved than anything else. Now we knew for sure what the trouble was. Besides, as a weatherman I’m used to a certain amount of failure.

Dr. Marks recommended we pay a visit to the New York Fertility Institute for a consultation. Deborah hesitated. “Let’s try it on our own just one more time,” she said. “If it’s meant to be, then God will make it happen.”

Dr. Marks pinpointed Deborah’s window of ovulation. “Knowing when should help,” she told us. But it didn’t. Every time I saw one of those commercials showing a happy couple with a positive on their home pregnancy test, I wanted to throw something at the TV.

Three weeks later, Deborah surprised me. “Al, I’m late,” she said. I scrambled off to the drugstore for a home pregnancy test. Deborah went into the bathroom the next morning while I paced in the hall outside. Finally she opened the door, a smile on her face and test strip in hand. Two pink lines. “Positive?” I asked. She nodded. Was this really happening?

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I wouldn’t let myself get excited. Not yet. We tried another test. That one came back positive too. Oh, man. We’re pregnant! We stayed up almost all night talking. What do we do now? Who do we tell and when? What about Courtney, who had ruled the roost for so long? We decided to wait to give her the news, just in case.

I didn’t sleep much that night. I got out of bed around 3 a.m.—a little earlier than usual—gave Deborah a peck on the cheek while she slept, then left for Studio 1A at Rockefeller Center. “You’re looking mighty chipper, Al,” Katie Couric said. “Really?” I answered nonchalantly.

Inside, I was ready to burst. I wanted to tell Katie, Matt Lauer, everyone. But I kept quiet and gave the weather report as usual. “Nine months from now,” I felt like telling the whole country, “it looks like we’re due for a nice, warm baby. And a high probability of an overly sunny dad.”

It was good I didn’t. A sonogram at two months showed the baby wasn’t growing. Its heart rate was way too slow. “I’m sorry,” Dr. Marks told us. “I know this is going to hurt, but it doesn’t look like the baby will reach term.” Deborah miscarried on Labor Day weekend.

“I’d just started to think of myself as a mother,” Deborah told me. “And now it’s all changed.” I squeezed her hand. I knew just what she meant.

It wasn’t that we weren’t parents already. But ever since the day Deborah showed me that test strip, we’d both felt something new at work in our lives. The incredible mystery of God working through us to create a new life. I think we both knew then and there that there was no turning back.

READ MORE: WALTER CRONKITE ON HONESTY

A few weeks before our second anniversary, Deborah got a checkup from Dr. Marks. She asked about the possibility of trying to get pregnant again. “I see no reason why you couldn’t,” Dr. Marks told her. “You’ve healed well, and you’re in good health. But you’re going to need medical and scientific help.”

We went to see Drs. Majid Fateh and Khalid Sultan at the New York Fertility Institute. Dr. Sultan told us about artificial insemination and in vitro fertilization.

Then he said, “I’m not going to lie to you. If you choose this road, it is a long one. And difficult. For both of you, but especially for Deborah. There will be a lot of work involved, a lot of discomfort and no guarantees. Are you willing to go through it?”

That night Deborah and I talked it over. “It’s your decision,” I finally said. “Like the doc told us, you’re the one who has to do the real work. But…” Deborah took my hand and I knew I didn’t have to finish my sentence. We wanted a baby. Come what may, we were going to try.

We opted for in vitro fertilization. It was a success; Deborah got pregnant again.

This time I was afraid to be too happy. The doctors told us how critical the first trimester was. I prayed every day, asking God to keep my wife and our unborn child in his hands.

Twelve weeks later we went into the sonogram room together. I had years of live TV under my belt, and thought I was well past the butterflies-in-the-stomach phase. But I’d never felt so unsettled before. The doctor turned on the monitor and the screen flickered to life. He ran the wand over Deborah’s belly. “There,” he said.

Deborah and I squinted into the black-white-and-gray image on the screen, trying to figure out what the doctor was pointing out. “Those are the arms,” the doctor said. Then he ran his finger along two thin shapes near the bottom of the screen. “Those are the legs right there.”

He flipped a switch and the room filled with sound. A steady, thumping beat. “Good, strong heartbeat. Congratulations!”

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In that moment, all my doubts and worries, all my questions about whether or not Deborah and I had done the right thing, completely vanished.

Science may have helped us on our path to pregnancy, but it couldn’t get us all the way to the end. The only thing that could do that was the power and grace of God. He’d been with us on this journey every step of the way. This was his miracle; the beautiful, glorious, humbling mystery of life.

At 9:17 a.m. on Tuesday, November 17, 1998, I heard the most wonderful sound: the cries of our newborn daughter, Leila Ruth Roker. A nurse held her up for Deborah to see. My wife started to cry, and so did I. I held my new daughter and looked into her eyes. Is this how Mom and Dad felt when they held me? I wondered.

I thought back to growing up with my five siblings. They were my brothers and sisters, but to my parents they were much more. Each of us was a miracle.

My little girl wriggled in my arms and all at once I felt warmth surge through me. Love. For Courtney, for Leila and for Deborah. This was the answer to the mystery that had driven Deborah and me to want a child so much. Love without limits, just like God’s love for all his children.

Read More: How Al Roker Weathers Life’s Storms

Read More: Al Roker on How Parenting a Child with Special Needs Inspires Him

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Guided to Safety on September 11th

Posted on by Michael Hingson

That morning I was in my office on the 78th floor of the North Tower of the World Trade Center when the first plane exploded into the building above us.

I’ve been blind since birth and my incredible guide dog Roselle led me down 1,463 steps to safety, just minutes before the tower collapsed. I was tremendously grateful to have survived, but questions nagged at my soul.

How could a tragedy of this magnitude happen? Why did Roselle and I survive and thousands of others didn’t?

Only a few days after the attacks, I threw myself back into my work as a regional sales manager for Quantum ATL, a company that provides computer backup systems for businesses. I worked from home and from rented offices in New Jersey. I was also asked by TV stations and newspapers to share my story.

Initially I was hesitant. I walked down a bunch of stairs—that wasn’t heroic. My wife, Karen, said, “The country needs healing, Michael. And so do you. Tell people about what you and Roselle went through. Give them hope.”

I did a few interviews. The more I told my story, the more I realized there was also value in talking about some of the things I learned growing up blind—things that went a long way toward helping me survive that day.

Like the importance of trust and teamwork. The trust I had in God and Roselle, and the teamwork I had with her and the people who were with us all 1,463 steps down.

I began to wonder if I was meant to do something other than work in the computer business. How can I best help people? Guide me, Lord. I’m listening.

In December, 2001, I got a call from Bob Phillips, the CEO of Guide Dogs for the Blind—the nonprofit I’d been getting guide dogs from for 38 years, ever since I was matched with my first dog, Squire, at age 14. “Michael, will you serve as the spokesperson for our San Rafael, California, campus?” Bob asked.

A spokesperson for the organization that had changed my life? And at the San Rafael campus? That’s where Roselle and Squire had gone to school! It was Harvard for guide dogs! Karen and I were both native Californians and had always dreamed of moving back.

But taking the position would mean giving up a comfortable salary. We spent a week in prayer. The more we prayed, the more it was clear: We had changed. I had changed. Money wasn’t as important. I called Bob. “I’d be honored to take the job,” I said.

Working for Guide Dogs was a dream come true. I was bringing people the same confidence, hope and freedom I’d felt having a guide dog. And I got to spend time with Kay and Ted Stern, who had raised Roselle. She was one of the first puppies they’d trained to be service dogs.

“Hearing what you went through gave us validation,” Kay said. “We’re going to continue working with service dogs.”

More folks wanted to know how Roselle and I stayed calm that terrifying day and how we worked together. I remembered what Karen had said not long after September 11, that our story gives people hope. If they want to hear it, why not share it?

So, after six and a half years of working for Guide Dogs, I resigned to tell Roselle’s and my story at schools, corporations and churches.

Roselle passed away this year at age 13. I miss her often, but keep busy with our other dog, our cat and my new guide dog, a yellow Lab named Africa.

I may never know the answers to the questions that plagued me after 9/11. But I know if we lean on God and each other, we will be guided…to a better, brighter future.

For more inspiring stories, subscribe to Guideposts magazine.

Guided by a Divine Navigator

Posted on by Chuck Turk

Dense fog shrouded the water. Beyond the dock, where a small skiff was tied up, all I could see was a milky mist. It looked like it was a day better for holing up inside the lighthouse where my wife and I were staying than going out on the water.

There was a reason, after all, why the Little River Lighthouse was here, perched on a tiny speck of land off the coast of Maine, opposite the town of Cutler. The shoreline was rugged, littered with jagged, treacherous rocks.

But I didn’t have a choice. Marilyn and I were volunteering as lighthouse caretakers, a dream come true for lighthouse buffs like us. One of our jobs was to ferry overnight guests to and from the mainland, a mile away. As an experienced boater, I knew it could only be done safely at high tide.

Right now. I’d pushed the loaded luggage cart from the far side of the island, where the lighthouse, the keeper’s house and the foghorn were. Now I maneuvered the cart down the ramp to the 15-foot skiff. Marilyn and our visitors, Gene and Sally, trailed behind me.

They were counting on me to get them back to Cutler. I helped Sally into the boat and handed her a life vest. Gene put on his vest and climbed into the kayak he’d paddled over on.

“Follow close behind us, okay?” I said to Gene.

“Absolutely,” he said.

Gene was the one I was worried about, not me. Granted, we rarely had fog like this where we lived, on the Florida Panhandle. But I had a compass. I knew how to chart a course. I’d been a fighter-jet navigator in the Air Force.

At times like this, when you couldn’t trust your eyes, you had to trust your instruments to guide you.

Gene pushed away from the dock and waited for us to lead the way. I started the engine while Marilyn untied the lines and hopped in.

We crept through the water. Normally it was only a 10-minute trip to Cutler, and we’d have a clear view the whole way of its picturesque harbor, busy with hulking lobster boats, cabin cruisers, sloops and kayaks. Now I couldn’t make out a thing.

“Thank God that kayak is bright yellow,” Marilyn murmured.

Sally nodded. I could tell she was worried about her husband, but as promised, he was sticking close to us.

I shifted my gaze from the compass to the bow, straining to see through the haze.

Brumm. Brummm. Brummmm.

The deep rumble of a boat motor, from somewhere off our port side. My hand gripped the throttle tighter. The lobster boats were coming back from their morning run. If we were in their path they might not see us until it was too late.

I looked down at the compass. We were on track. But should I adjust? Which way? I spied a buoy to starboard, marking the location of a lobster trap below the surface. Too close and our motor could get tangled in a line. I gave it a wide berth, then quickly reset my course. There you go.

The fog seemed to grow thicker by the second. At least when we got to shore we’d be able to hang out in town for a bit, get a bite to eat, do some shopping. Hopefully by then it would begin to clear and the tide would still be in.

I could just barely make out the shadow of a lobster boat, a safe distance away. She pulled ahead, her wake rocking us, and then disappeared into the mist, like a ghost ship.

I inched the skiff forward, watching, listening for hidden hazards. We had to be getting close to shore, hadn’t we?

Finally, I saw the familiar outlines of buildings emerging, about 30 yards away. Hallelujah!

I steered us to the public boat ramp. Gene paddled ahead and got the kayak out first. Three local lighthouse volunteers were there to help us unload. One of them grabbed our line and tied up the boat. Another reached a hand out to Sally. I lifted our guests’ luggage onto the dock and turned to Gene.

“Hope you have a safe trip home,” I said. But Gene didn’t even look up. He was staring at the pile of luggage.

“We must have left one of our bags back on the island,” he said. “And it’s the one that has my wallet in it. Shoot.”

I glanced over my shoulder at the fog. Lobster boats were still coming in. Nuts.

“No problem,” I said. “We’ll go back and get it.”

“I’m sorry,” Gene said. “I can go with you if you’d like.”

I waved him off and helped Marilyn back into the boat.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked me quietly.

“We’ll be fine,” I said, hoping I sounded more confident than I felt. The compass could only tell me which direction we were going. It couldn’t tell me where the island was or, more importantly, where we were.

If I got even a little bit off course, if I took us past that speck of land, we’d be headed straight out to open sea.

Marilyn stood beside me, shivering. From the damp chill or fear, I wasn’t sure. I guided the boat out of the harbor, around one buoy, then another, then a lobster car, a type of holding cage. Resetting our course each time. Nothing but fog everywhere I looked.

It was kind of creepy, how it seemed to cling to us.

“Is this the right direction?” Marilyn asked.

I looked down at the compass. I was gripping it hard. “We’re heading southeast,” I told her. “That’s right.”

“Shouldn’t we be going more to the left?”

Left? We weren’t exactly driving down a road. But something didn’t feel right to me either. Could I have overcorrected?

I heard a roar. A boat practically on top of us. I was afraid to even move. The other boat emerged from the fog, heading away from us, toward the town harbor. Whew. That was close.

“Is that a tree line over there?” I pointed starboard.

“Honey, I don’t see anything,” Marilyn said.

Now I couldn’t see it either. I felt completely blind. Dread rose inside me. We should have been back at the island by now. But I didn’t know where we were. Which way to turn. The compass couldn’t help me. I was totally lost.

It was eerily quiet. Only the rumbling of the skiff engine, taking us deeper and deeper into the fog. Then came a voice. The words were unspoken, but unmistakable.

Listen. Just listen.

I cut the engine to idle. Waited. But there was nothing. What was it I was supposed to hear? I needed to see, not hear!

Then, in the distance, a faint, deep repeating sound. Like someone blowing a…

“The foghorn!” Marilyn exclaimed.

We stared at each other in disbelief. The foghorn could only be heard on the ocean side of the island. We were headed out to sea! How could that have happened? I’d made only the smallest of turns. Kept an eye on the compass. Trusted that I…

In that moment it hit me how I’d gone wrong. I’d been so certain that I knew what I was doing, never realizing that somewhere along the line I’d misread the compass. Every maneuver I’d made after that had taken us farther and farther off course.

It was okay to be confident in my abilities and in my instruments. But ultimately there was only one navigation system that would never steer me wrong. Or maybe I should say, one great Navigator.

I wheeled the boat around and pointed it toward the sound of the horn until the outline of the lighthouse came into view through the fog. Marilyn and I exchanged smiles. I circled the island until we found the dock. Finally we were back.

We tied up. I hopped out and ran the half mile to the keeper’s house. There was the bag, right where our guests had left it. I rejoined Marilyn in the skiff. No worries about making it to the mainland this time. I had all the direction I needed.

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Gratitude for Safety

Posted on by Michelle Cox

I would have had a heart attack. That was my first thought when I saw my friend Wendy’s pictures on Facebook and read what she posted. The photos were of a large snake. Seriously, it looked like it was as big around as my arm.

“I barely have a voice today after encountering this huge cottonmouth water moccasin late yesterday,” Wendy posted. “It lunged at me with mouth wide open, and I still don’t know how it didn’t bite me.”

The snake was about four feet from their motorhome doorway. Wendy had come around from the side to grab her phone from the outside chair and didn’t see the snake until she turned around. It lunged at her with its mouth open to bite her. “Y’all!,” she contines, “I don’t even remember flinging chairs and losing my flip-flops, but my husband was in the truck with our boys and saw me running and screaming.” He thought bees were chasing her.

And then the line that makes my blood run cold every time, “All I can think about is how much Sam (her little boy) runs around and plays on his bike at our campsite and doesn’t know how to get away.”

I’m so grateful she managed to get out of the reach of that snake and even more thankful that her little guy wasn’t the one who encountered the venomous water moccasin. Her story has made me think about something these past few days: I wonder how many times I’ve faced dangerous situations—didn’t even realize I was in danger?

I call them “almost moments.” The ones where I almost had a wreck, but at the last minute, moved away right before the impact. Or those times I grumbled about a detour or slow traffic, and then realized later with the beauty of hindsight, that what I’d considered an aggravation had kept me safe. Or in Wendy’s case, facing a poisonous snake poised to strike but not being harmed.

Psalm 138:7 says, “Though I walk in the midst of trouble, You preserve my life.” Maybe you’d like to join me today in thanking God for keeping us safe in all of those what-might-have-been moments.

Good Friday’s Ultimate Love on the Cross

Posted on by Pablo Diaz

People from all around the world observe Good Friday in different ways—by fasting, praying or attending a church service from noon to 3 p.m., the time in which Jesus was hung on the cross. In some countries, churches even re-enact the procession of the cross as in the ritual of the Stations of the Cross, which depicts the final hours of Jesus’ life.

Unlike the celebratory spirit on Easter, Good Friday is a day to reflect and pray. Most people, when contemplating the story of the crucifixion, feel perplexed, confused and disturbed, which is only natural. The crucifixion was a method of capital punishment in which the victim was left to hang until death. However, if we examine the deeper meaning of Jesus’ sacrifice, we find love. In doing so, we discover a new narrative—a transforming and life-changing message of love.

Jesus loved the people He met, served, taught and healed. He surrounded himself with all types of people: the poor, broken, hurting, powerful and religious. Jesus’ love for all people is what leads him to the cross. He said, “Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends” (John 15:13). While Jesus hung on the cross, He expressed His love to the crowd that mocked Him and assured one of the thieves who hung on a cross next to Him that he would soon be with Him in paradise.

Jesus Christ gave His life so that we could live abundantly. His love frees us from our sins, heals us from our hurts and reconnects us with God. The love Jesus expressed at the cross is faithful, steadfast and never ending. It flows from His heart into our lives, changing us and our narrative. No matter how sad Good Friday may seem, let us remember, no greater love can be found than the one we find at the cross. When you think of Good Friday, what word comes to your mind? Please share with us.

Lord, thank You for Your love that changes us daily.

‘God, You Are Amazing’

Posted on by Michelle Medlock Adams

Today’s guest blogger is Pastor David Carey, a spiritual giant in my life. He is one of the most brilliant Bible teachers I have ever encountered. I’m so thankful Pastor Carey was willing to share with us today.

But we will not boast beyond limits, but will boast only with regard to the area of influence God assigned to us, to reach even to you. (2 Corinthians 10:13, ESV)

I was nearing the end of a busy day and had just finished writing a blog on the importance of knowing that God assigns us people and places to influence, when I decided I had time for one more task before leaving the office.

It was then that I remembered I needed to make a phone call to the insurance company of a man who had run into my car months earlier. I was still dealing with some minor physical problems from the accident, and this insurance company had requested I keep them updated on my recovery. They had not heard from me in a while and had written recently to request I call whenever possible. Honestly, I had been meaning to call them for several weeks. (Someday I will work on my procrastination!)

Pastor David CareyMaking the call, I found myself talking to a pleasant woman who seemed to show real concern for my wellbeing. After a discussion of my status, she noted that according to her information, I worked for a church. I confirmed that I did, wondering where this conversation was going.

“Then you must know the power of prayer,” she said enthusiastically.

“Yes,” I answered, “And you must be a Christian!”

After she answered affirmatively, we had a nice discussion about the Lord. At one point she said, “I’m not really supposed to be talking about…”

I stopped her in mid-sentence and said, “You don’t have to worry about political correctness with me.”

I then told her that I had just finished writing about how God assigns us people to whom we are to minister. “So either you’re supposed to be talking to me, or I’m supposed to be talking to you,” I said with a smile.

After a few more minutes of conversation, I asked her if I could pray for her before we hung up. She answered, “yes,” eager to receive prayer. So I prayed. My prayer was one of those Holy Spirit-led prayers that has you praying in ways that you know are not coming from you. By the time I finished, she was in tears.

After we hung up, I sat back in my chair and said, “God you are amazing.” A few minutes after I had finished writing about how God-ordained encounters are given to us to influence the lives of others, He had done exactly that with me.

Often when we least expect it, we will find ourselves on assignment for God. Moses was led to the Pharaoh; Elijah to King Ahab; and Peter to Cornelius. Be looking for your next God assignment…

Apostle David Carey and his wife, Nancy, planted Word of Life Christian Center in Newark, Delaware. They are founders of Word of Life School of Ministry and have planted or assisted Bible schools in several nations. Carey is the author of Now Elijah! (Straight Street Books, August 2015).

God’s Word and Mandy’s Miracle

Posted on by Michelle Medlock Adams

Elkanah lay with Hannah his wife, and the Lord remembered her. So in the course of time Hannah conceived and gave birth to a son. She named him Samuel, saying, “Because I asked the Lord for him.” (First Samuel 1:19-20)

Since tomorrow is my oldest niece’s birthday, and since Mother’s Day is just around the corner, I thought I’d share a story with you that’s very special to our family.

Every time I think about Mandy’s struggle to conceive or tell others about the miracle that followed, I am once again reminded that God’s Word is alive. You see, the Bible is more than just a good book filled with great stories. It’s the Good Book full of great promises. It’s your lifeline! So why do so many of us leave it on the coffee table instead of discovering its power and relevance every day?

Mandy found out just how powerful and pertinent the Word of God is in a personal way. She and her husband Chris had tried for several years to have a baby, but every month the pregnancy test came back negative. The doctor didn’t have a very good prognosis for Mandy, and with every day that passed, she wondered if she’d ever have a child of her own. She was so discouraged. Lots of well-meaning people gave her advice: “Take this vitamin and it will help you get pregnant.” Or “Try conceiving when there is a full moon.” Or “Stop eating acidic food.” Or “Drink lots of carrot juice.” Mandy followed every piece of advice, trying desperately to become pregnant, but the only thing she became was depressed and a little orange from the carrot juice.

Then her mother said, “Mandy, honey, why don’t you find some scriptures in the Bible to stand on? Find your promises in the Word of God and pray them over yourself every single day. The Word works!”

Mandy had been a Christian since she was a little girl, so she was certainly open to this suggestion… and she had pretty much tried everything else. She dug into the Bible and found the story of Sarah and Abraham and read about how Sarah, who was physically too old to conceive, had given birth to Isaac. Then she found the story of Hannah and how Hannah had prayed for a baby and finally given birth to Samuel and later several other children.

Mandy had her precedent in the Word of God, and since God is no respecter of persons, she believed God would do the same for her.

He did, and it didn’t take long! Mandy stood on those scriptures and several others for three months. She prayed them over herself on her way to work every single day, and one Monday night, the pregnancy test came back positive! Mandy gave birth to a healthy 8-pound, 13-ounce baby boy–Walker–on February 15, 2006. Then on March 19, 2008, Waverly came into the world, and Mandy was once again amazed at God’s goodness.

God has a promise for you, too. Dust off that Bible and find out what God says about your situation. That doesn’t mean you’ll necessarily have your happy ending in three months just like Mandy, but you could. And wouldn’t it be better to stand in faith believing for your miracle than to remain depressed and sad over your negative circumstances?

Let God’s Word and Mandy’s miracle encourage you today as you believe God for your breakthrough. The Bible is full of promises just for you–so stand on those promises today! (Oh, and happy birthday, Mandy. I love you!)

God’s Perfect Timing

Posted on by Diana Aydin

I’m constantly amazed at God’s perfect timing. He can turn something as simple as a 5-minute mental break into something far more wondrous.

That’s what happened to my fellow editor Nicole Notare. Last week, just as I was packing up to head home for the night, she rushed up to my desk with a big smile on her face. It could only mean one thing.

“I have a small lunch-break miracle for you!” she said.

Here’s Nicole’s story:

I’m blessed to have a job I love, but it was a day of back-to-back deadlines, and I was feeling the stress! Before I knew it, it was almost 5 pm, and I hadn’t eaten lunch. I grabbed a sandwich from the deli around the corner and hurried back to my desk to tackle the next item on my to-do list.

Although, taking a quick Facebook break seemed much more appealing…

Nah, I’ve got to keep going! I told myself, trying to fight the urge to procrastinate. But I gave in.

The first item on my newsfeed was a photo of One World Trade Center posted by my aunt Tammy. The building is just a few blocks from the Guideposts office!

“Are you here now?” I commented, unsure if the photo was recent or not. “I work nearby!” My husband and I live nearly three hours from her and my uncle and hadn’t seen them since our wedding two years earlier.

A few seconds later, a notification popped up on my screen. “Yes!” she said. “We knew you worked here, but we thought you’d be home by now. We’re at Duane Park. We’d love to see you!”

I grabbed my purse and dashed over there. There was my aunt with my uncle and little cousin, Jack. Turns out they’d been a few minutes early for their dinner reservation, and they’d planned to head home after that. If I hadn’t taken that little Facebook break I would’ve missed them.

I never imagined a little procrastination would lead to a mini family reunion that completely turned my day around! But that’s how God works, isn’t it?

Has God ever amazed you with his perfect timing? Share your story below.

God’s Loving Sense of Humor

Posted on by Debra Edwards

Kaboom! My husband and I bolted upright. “What was that?” I asked. It was 3:00 a.m. Freezing rain pelted our bedroom window. The wind howled.

A picture of the tree that fell on Debra's house“I think a tree just fell on our house,” my husband said.

Our home was surrounded by trees, some 50 feet tall. A fallen one could cause major damage. “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus!” I shouted, the only prayer I could muster. I flung off the covers.

We raced from room to room. Everything looked okay, but I dreaded seeing the kitchen, which had etched-glass entry doors and a breakfast nook with lots of windows. Judging from the sound we’d awakened to, the impact would have shattered them all. “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus…”

Through the nook’s windows, we could see a massive tree leaning against our roof. Incredibly, the kitchen was undisturbed. Except for one thing. I began to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” my husband asked.

I pointed to the sign that hung above the breakfast nook. It was tilted and wedged against the window trim. RELAX, it read.

We did. The tree had caused no major damage—and now we have a huge stack of firewood.

The "Relax" sign in Debra's breakfast nook

God’s Glory Illuminated by Rare Fire Rainbow

Posted on by Diana Aydin

I’m always on the hunt for miracles and “mysterious ways.” So much so that it’s now a running joke with my friends and family. Whenever something wondrous or mildly mysterious happens, we’ll turn to each other and say, “mysterious ways?”

Yesterday, my sister Priscilla messaged me just that. She had taken a break from work and was scrolling through Facebook when she saw something that caught her attention. A post from an old co-worker that said: “…And we wonder if there is a God!!!”

The post was a link to an article about a fire rainbow, or circumhorizontal arc, that recently appeared in Mount Pleasant, South Carolina. Yes, you read that correctly. A fire rainbow!

Apparently the phenomenon is quite unusual.

“To produce the rainbow colors the sun’s rays must enter the ice crystals at a precise angle to give the prism effect of the color spectrum,” meteorologist Justin Lock told CBS station WCSC. “Again, it has to do with getting the precise angle.”

The fire rainbow in Mount Pleasant looked somewhat like a rainbow-hued fish tail. (Although, I’m sure my friends at Angels on Earth magazine would say it looks more like angel wings!)

Whatever you see, though, it’s pretty remarkable. A natural miracle. No wonder those who witnessed it were simply blown away.

“The world today is so full [of] strife,” spectator Tiffany Jenks told CBS News, “but just for that brief moment–when looking at the fire rainbow myself, the others around me and those seeing the photo–I seemed to step back and remember how beautiful our planet really is and how blessed we are to be a part of it.”

Or, as Priscilla’s co-worker said in her Facebook post, “…And we wonder if there is a God!!!”

What about you? What do you see in the fire rainbow photo? Share your thoughts below.

God Promised Her a Man Who Fit the Bill

Posted on by Barbara Wilson

“Woman seeking man named Bill.”

I stared at my words in print. My personal ad in the classifieds section of the morning newspaper, complete with a P.O. box address so potential suitors could send me letters. It was one of the weirdest things I’d ever done, but I so wanted to take a chance on love.

I’d recently gotten divorced and was feeling lonely. A friend suggested praying for someone new to come into my life. While I had always been spiritual, I’d fallen away from church. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d prayed for something so specific. But I gave it a try, not quite knowing what to expect. Please, God, bring into my life the love you intend for me.

I was surprised when I received an answer, whispered into my heart: The man you’re looking for is named Bill. The message felt too strong to ignore. I told my daughter, Margie, and my friend Pam about my conviction. They thought I was crazy.

“I can’t explain it,” I said. “I just know in my heart that I’m meant to marry a Bill.”

And so my search began. After I put out the personal ad, a few Bills responded. I went out with all of them—but clicked with no one. Just as I knew I was destined to meet my Bill, I knew none of them were right. None of them…fit the Bill.

Meanwhile, Pam was encouraging me to put myself out there in a more conventional way. She’d learned of a singles’ ski trip to Taos, New Mexico. I was a Texas girl through and through. My idea of a fun vacation was relaxing poolside, not speeding down a mountain in the snow. But Pam was insistent. “Just try it!” she said. “You might like it. And who knows? Maybe you’ll meet your Bill on the slopes!”

Why not? I decided. I’d never been skiing before, but Pam was a skier and let me borrow her equipment.

Pam was right—I had a great time! By the end of the ski trip, I still hadn’t graduated from the bunny slope but I’d discovered a love of skiing. I had met a lot of people too, but none named Bill.

The bus back to Texas was scheduled to leave the resort at 4 P.M. Anyone late would be left behind, we were warned. Everyone arrived on time. Well, almost everyone. “We’re waiting on one more person,” the bus driver told us as we sat idling in the parking lot. Apparently, this man had called ahead, saying he would be unavoidably late.

Eventually, the man in question burst through the door of the bus, his snowsuit still on. The only seat left was right next to me. He sat down, still panting from his sprint to the bus.

“I’m Don,” he said. I introduced myself and asked what happened. Don said he’d been stuck on the side of the mountain. A skier had broken both of her legs, and he’d waited with her until the ski patrol arrived to take her to safety.

What a gentleman! I thought. And handsome too…

We actually had a lot in common. The conversation between us flowed easily. Don and I chatted for almost the entire 12-hour drive to Fort Worth. At the end of the trip, we exchanged phone numbers. We went on one date. Then two. Then three. Don was everything I’d ever wanted in a man…except for his name, of course.

“Nobody’s perfect,” Pam said with a laugh. I had to agree. But Don sure came close.

Then Don invited me to attend a banquet with him. It was being held by the crisis intervention hotline where he volunteered once a week, answering calls from people in trouble. Many callers intended to commit suicide. It was Don’s job to connect them with the help they needed. It was a worthy cause, and Don was a dashing date.

That night at the banquet, there was a registration table at the front door. On it we found preprinted name tags for each guest. Don picked up one with Billon it. As he affixed the name tag to the lapel of his jacket, a chill crept up my spine.

“Why does your name tag say Bill?” I asked.

“Oh, we don’t use our real names at the center,” said Don. “It’s for privacy. So around here, I’m Bill!”

I don’t think I stopped smiling that entire evening. When I got home that night, the first thing I did was call Pam. It was late, but she picked up.

“Hello?” she said, sleepily.

“I’ve found my Bill!” I cried out in delight.

“Bill” and I have been together for almost 30 years now and got married in 2001. Deep down, I knew he was the man God intended for me since the moment we first met. It just took a name tag to prove it.

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God Lets Us Know We Are on the Right Track

Posted on by Diana Aydin

Last month, we welcomed a new editor to Guideposts, Danielle Lyle. She moved into the empty cubicle right next to mine and it’s been a blast working with her already.

I’ve always felt like I was called to Guideposts–probably because I applied for my job on Easter Sunday! So I couldn’t help but wonder about Danielle’s own journey. Had she been called here too?

Well, the other day, Danielle and I were discussing miracles (yes, that’s all I talk about!) and I got some answers.

“I have a little miracle for you,” she said, smiling from ear to ear. “It’s about this book…”

It had a black, shiny cover with gold writing that looked like stringed light bulbs and a gold feather. A book of inspirational stories on my mom’s bookshelf. It drew my attention from a very young age. I’d read the stories over and over again. But I made sure I never creased the cover. I’d open it up ever so slightly.

I read that book all through my childhood and teenage years. It became a part of me. Until I left for college, and other books got in the way. It wasn’t until I started working for Guideposts that I remembered that special book. I had just attended my first editorial meeting and I needed some inspiration. I wanted to be a positive addition to the team. But after my first pitch, I thought I was off to a rocky start.

So I tried to think of inspiring stories I’d come across. The book I’d loved so much came to mind. I could see the cover as if it was my eye’s wallpaper, but I couldn’t make out the title; it had completely slipped my mind. I called my mom and we bounced around possible titles. “I’ve Been Touched by an Angel?” she suggested. “That’s it!” I Googled it and Della Reese popped up. Great actress; no book.

I texted my sister. “Do you remember that book I was obsessed with as a kid?” I wrote. She responded immediately: “It Must Have Been An Angel!” I went home that night and ordered it for 43 cents. Super excited. When I opened the package, though, I was completely underwhelmed. The cover had changed. It was plain and ivory. No gold feather.

But the next morning something happened. On the subway to work, I read the first story in the book. I flipped to the index to find out more… and I couldn’t believe it. It was first told by Tay Thomas in the April 1965 issue of Guideposts magazine!

The book I pored over as a kid–the first story was originally published in the magazine I work for today! God has a way of letting us know we are on the right track. His blessings and surprises show he’s there, rockin’ with us. The cover had changed, but this little miracle proved it–I belonged at Guideposts!

Has God ever given you a clue about your destiny? Share your story below or via email!