---MORE THAN COINCIDENCE / - Mysterious Ways

--I SAT ON MY front porch, the letter in my hand, staring at my burgundy five-speed Pontiac Grand Prix and wondering what to do. The car had been in and out of the shop lately. One week a computer chip fried; another week it was the steering column. I held my breath every time I turned the key. And now this. I read the letter again. The major manufacturing company I worked for was shutting down our plant for retooling. I'd been offered a temporary job at our facility in Baltimore, a seven-hour round-trip drive from my home in New Jersey.

I was a single parent. I couldn't afford to move or pull my daughter out of school, but I needed that job. The only choice would be to leave my daughter with my parents, make the drive to Baltimore every Sunday, stay with girlfriends there and then drive back at the end of each week. But there were times my car wasn't even making it around the corner!-

I stepped off the porch and walked around the car. "Lord," I prayed, "please make this car work the way it was intended to. Please, Lord."

For the next 18 months, I drove from New Jersey to Maryland and back every weekend. More than 24,000 miles total. Amazingly, I didn't have one problem with my car, not even a flat tire.

Finally, I was called back to my home plant, with a week off before I had to report. On my last day in Baltimore, I packed up the Grand Prix and happily headed out onto I-95.

Thirty minutes into the drive, the gear shift stuck. Uh-oh. By the time I crossed the Delaware Memorial Bridge into New Jersey, my dashboard was lit up like a Christmas tree. On the Garden State Parkway, I had to floor the gas pedal just to keep up with traffic. The car died the very second I reached my parents' house. ~~

The following Monday morning, I went to the garage where my Grand Prix had been towed. "Lady, your clutch is gone and so's the starter. The battery is dead, there's a defective tank baffle, and I'm not even finished," the mechanic said.

"You can't be talking about my car," I said. "I drove this car back and forth to Maryland for eighteen months..."

"Ma'am, with all that's wrong that that car, you wouldn't have been able to back it out of this garage. Not now or eighteen months ago!"

--GUIDEPOSTS/FB

---MYSTERIOUS WAYS --/ MORE THAN COINCIDENCE~~

--IT WAS ONE of those weeks when every little thing that could go wrong did. The oven light went out. The bathroom faucet started leaking. I couldn't remember how to set the DVR. All painful reminders that my late husband wasn't around to look out for me anymore. George and I had been married for 56 years. Though he'd been gone for two, I still couldn't get used to being on my own. I even showed up to meet a friend for breakfast on the wrong day.

Finally, Saturday. It was my turn to make lunch for our prayer group, something George and I used to do together. I put all the food into Tupperware, then into a box for the 45-mile drive to where the group was meeting.

Just as I set the box on the passenger seat, I remembered the car was low on gas. I ran in the house to get my credit card. But it wasn't where I always put it for safekeeping. Or anywhere else I searched. I wasn't sure how much cash I had. A check would have to do. Except my checkbook wasn't in its usual drawer. At last, I spotted it--on top of the filing cabinet. I grabbed it and ran outside.

It was raining. I tossed the checkbook in the box with the food and took off. No time to stop for gas. Fortunately there was enough in the tank to get to my prayer group. After lunch, I stacked the empty Tupperware in the box and dashed through the rain to my car.

Three nervous miles passed with the gas gauge hovering on 'E'. At last, a gas station! I pulled in and made sure to fill the tank all the way, until I heard the pump click off. Thunk.

I reached in the box of Tupperware for my checkbook. It wasn't there. I looked on the seat, the floor. Nothing. How was I going to pay?

Anxiously, I rummaged through my purse and unearthed a wad of crumpled bills. Please, let this be enough!

"That'll be thirty-six dollars," the clerk said.
I smoothed each bill and laid them on the counter. "Here's ten, fifteen, twenty, thirty. Thirty-one, two, three, four, five...six!" I put down my last dollar.

I got in the car and started the engine. That's when I noticed the gas gauge--only three quarters full. The pump had stopped at 36 dollars' worth of gas. Or had Someone stopped it? Someone who was looking out for me even better than George could. ~~

--GUIDEPOSTS/BDB~~

---MYSTERIOUS WAYS~~
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----MORE THAN COINCIDENCE~~

--WHEN I WAS A GIRL, it was a treat to visit Grandpa and Grandma. I loved their German accents. Grandpa always made time to play with me. He could be stern, but he was kind--and sometimes I deserved a good scolding. "I tell you, stay out! I don't vant you to get hurt!" he'd say if I tried to play with his tools in the garage.

I'd ask him questions I had about the world, like what was behind the stars?
"More stars, of course!" he'd say.

This particular day, my parents were quiet in the car on the way to my grandparents' house. I didn't mind. I was already thinking about the fun things I'd do with Grandpa. "You run along and say hi to Grandma. Dad and I have to talk," Mom said as we pulled up.

I burst into the house. Grandma was at the stove.
"Come, dear. I give you zoup," she said. Usually Grandma leaned down and gave me a kiss but this time she just took the pot off the stove and put it in the sink to cool. I went over and peered into the pot. Inside the steaming liquid was a whole fish looking right at me!

"Ugh, Grandma! There's a fish!"
"Susan, you don't vorry about that. Go play outside and I'll call vhen it's finished," Grandma said.
'Good,' I thought. I could find Grandpa.

I went out back and ran to the chicken coop, but he wasn't there. Was Grandpa playing hide-and-seek with me? He was probably tinkering with something in the garage. I poked around, looking behind shelves, even under the car.
Where was he?

Then came an unmistakable voice, sterner than I'd ever heard him. "Susan, get out now!"
I bolted from the garage, with tears in my eyes from the reprimand.

I turned. "I'm sorry, Grandpa---" I started to say. No one was there. Just then, a giant metal pail, almost as big as I was, came crashing down from the rafters and landed right where I'd been standing.

I ran as quickly as I could to the house. My parents and grandma were sitting at the kitchen table.

"A big pail came crashing down. It would have hit me if Grandpa hadn't yelled. I couldn't find him. I'm sorry---"

"It's okay, Susan," my father said. "We have something to tell you. Grandpa's not here. He went to Heaven last night."~~

--GUIDEPOSTS/SBY ~
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--MYSTERIOUS WAYS~~

---MORE THAN COINCIDENCE~~

---I SLOWLY GOT READY in front of my bedroom mirror, smoothing my hair and putting in my earrings. I had plans to meet friends for dinner. Truth was, I didn't feel up to going out.

I didn't feel up to much of anything, and I hadn't since my husband, Clancy, passed away three months earlier. It felt as if all the joy had gone out of life.

Clancy and I had known each other our whole lives. In our later years, we found ourselves falling in love. He was my soulmate, and he knew just how to make me laugh.

One day, two years into our marriage, I walked into our bedroom to see something peering down at me from the chandelier.
"Clancy, what earth is 'that'?" I asked.

"I believe it's a love bug," Clancy said, trying--and failing--to hide a grin. I laughed and took the object down from its perch. It was a small rubber tub toy, a bright red and yellow crab with bulging eyes and a silly smile. Clancy had meant to give it to one of our great-grandkids, but he liked it so much he ended up keeping it. That was Clancy for you.

All that week, I found the crab in surprising places. My sweater drawer, the kitchen sink, even taped to the inside of the toilet lid so that when I lifted it, the crab was there smiling at me.

'I can play this game too,' I thought.

After that, we took turns hiding the crab. It showed up tucked between the couch cushions, in the pocket of the coat Clancy wore to church, in our suitcase on trips abroad,, back and for for 10 years. A lighthearted little way to say, "I love you." Then one day, it went missing. We searched every room in the house, looked in every corner and underneath all the furniture and beds. Alas, our love bug was gone.

It was around this time that Clancy got sick. He underwent surgery for color cancer and died from complications. He was 83.

I'd barely been able to get out of bed since.
'Lord, how am I going to get through this dinner?'
I wondered, loooking at my wan reflection in the mirror. Just then, one of my earrings slipped from my hands and tumbled to the floor, rolling under the bed. I knelt down, lifted the bed skirt and there it was, staring right back at me.

A bright red and yellow crab, with bulging eyes and a goofy grin. Our love bug. I smiled. Clancy always did know how to make me laugh. ~~

----Ann Stoner Bostian
Spencer, North Carolina
--GUIDEPOSTS~~

----MYSTERIOUS WAYS~~

--MORE THAN COINCIDENCES~~

--SUNDAY MORNING. The warm July breeze drifted in through the second-story windows of the farmhouse I shared with my husband, Eugene, and his parents, who lived on the first floor. I was the organist at our little country parish. Eugene and his father were finishing up their barn chores, the last of which was milking our cows. I got dressed for church. If Eugene wasn't back soon, I'd get a ride to church with his Mom, so I could warm up before the 10:30 A.M. service. His father had bad arthritis and would have to lie down after chores. His Mom might appreciate company on the drive. Just as I finished getting ready, Eugene burst through the door.

"I finished milking the cows, but then I saw that one of their drinking bowls isn't working. I'm going to have to stay and repair it. Sorry."

I sighed. With farm life, it's always something. "That's fine," I said, "I'll just ride with Mom."

He nodded and went back to the barn. Mom and I were about to leave when Eugene ran inside again.

"We got it back up and running. Turned out to be an easy fix," he said. "I can go now."

Mom decided to stay behind to finish up a few things. She'd meet us when the service began, she said. So Eugene and I drove off to church together.

I headed to the choir loft to sort out my music as people filtered in. I was just beginning the prelude when the wail of sirens overwhelmed the organ. What's wrong? I thought. I glanced over the railing and saw churchgoers craning their necks to look out the front door. Eugene went to investigate. He returned a few minutes later and came up to the choir loft, looking shaken.

"There's been an accident," he said. "Mom's okay, but her car isn't."

Our Church sits at the top of a hill, and it's hard to see traffic coming from the opposite direction. Apparently, when Mom had been making the left turn into the Church parking lot, a driver approaching the other way failed to see her until too late and T-boned her car. Mom was uninjured, thank the Lord.--

"The right side of her car is completely crushed," Eugene said. "The passenger side." Right where I would have been sitting if I hadn't made the last-minute choice to go with Eugene instead of Mom that day. ~~

--GUIDEPOSTS/SU~~

---MYSTERIOUS WAYS~~
--[MORE THAN COINCIDENCE~]

---IT WAS A BRIGHT, sunny Saturday. My daughter Alexis would likely go off on one of her miles-long bike rides. I was so proud of Alexis and her health-conscious lifestyle. She'd been 75 pounds overweight as a teen but had taken up biking and hiking while in College.

Now 27, she was happy, fit and active. I was glad that she'd found ways to stay healthy, but I worried about her. The extensive biking trails in Portland went through some sketchy parts of town, and she was living on her own.

I went about my day, doing some weekend chores. Alexis was still on my mind, so at one point, I felt compelled to say a sincere prayer: "God, please keep my daughter safe. Keep Your angels around her, dear Lord."

A few hours later, I got a call from Alexis. "Mom, I've got to tell you what happened!" she said and launched into quite a story.

Sure enough, she'd been exploring a bike path with a friend. They did a big loop that ended just across the street from Alexis's apartment. The road they had to cross was very busy--it served as the entrance and exit to one of Portland's transit centers, where buses, trains and cars converge to pick up and drop off passengers.

Alexis was tired and in a hurry to get home. At the crosswalk, she didn't see or hear any cars coming, so she proceeded across the street. Her friend, who had been behind her, stayed at the curb.

Suddenly, Alexis heard a loud HONKKK! She jerked her bike to the left. A car whizzed by so close, it grazed her forearm, giving her a brush burn. The woman driving skidded to a stop, horrified!

Alexis knew she wasn't badly injured and saw that other cars were rapidly approaching, so she waved the driver on and quickly made her way to the other side. She waited there for her friend.

Once the rest of the traffic had passed, Alexis's friend crossed the street to join her. "I'm so glad that car honked its horn at the last second," Alexis said. "Otherwise, I might not be alive right now!"

Her friend looked at her, confused. "What horn? I was right there, and I didn't hear a thing. There was no loud horn."

I thought about the prayer I'd said earlier that day. Suddenly, it made a lot more sense. "Thank You, Lord, for hearing and answering my prayer."

--Myrna Rudolph
-PORTLAND, OREGON~
---GUIDEPOSTS~
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----MYSTERIOUS WAYS ~~
--MORE THAN COINCIDENCE~

--I WALKED through a cemetery late at night. Even by the light of the full moon, the names on the tombstones remained shrouded in darkness. Then lightning zigzagged through the sky and illuminated the headstone before me. 'Wes Smith.' My heart stopped. I knew that name.

I awoke with a start. It was only a dream, thank goodness. Still, I was unsettled. Why had I dreamed of Wes? Sure, we'd liked each other as sixth graders. We'd met in the Fall of '72 and clicked right away. He was so handsome, with his soft brown eyes and sweet smile. But then he moved away. I hadn't really thought about him in the four years since. 'It was just a strange dream,' I told myself. 'It doesn't mean anything.'

But over the next few days, I couldn't shake the feeling that I 'had' to tell Wes what I'd seen. I tracked down his address and wrote him a letter about the dream. But I didn't hear back. Eventually Wes, the dream and the letter slipped from my mind.

One day, four years later, I dropped by the college dorm suite next door to borrow a book. "Hang on," my neighbor said. "I'll grab it from my backpack." While I was waiting, I glanced around and noticed her high school prom photos. I looked closer. Her prom date. Those soft brown eyes. That sweet smile. He was bigger and taller, but I recognized him instantly. Wes.

My neighbor came back with the book. I told her how I knew Wes and that I'd love to catch up. She put us in touch. As it turned out, he remembered me too. He was coming to town and wanted to meet.

On a Friday night, Wes and I found ourselves at a college hangout, catching up over chicken wings. We filled each other in on the past eight years. Then Wes's tone turned serious, "Donna," he said, "I want to thank you for sending me that letter."

Wes explained that he'd gotten into drugs as a teen. But then he got my letter. It scared him into seeing that the way he was living might make my dream a reality. "That letter you sent was the turning point. After I got it, I stopped doing drugs."

It's been almost 40 years since that day. I never saw or heard from Wes again. But I'll never forget how we reconnected and the strange dream that turned out to be so much more.

--GUIDEPOSTS/DA~~
[Many times the Lord will put people on our hearts to tell other people things, that may help them come to realization they are out of the Lord's will and need to repent, and turn back to the Lord. Is the Lord putting someone on your heart to share His love and forgiveness. There are no coincidences with our Lord Jesus. Blessings! ]

--MYSTERIOUS WAYS ~~ MORE THAN COINCIDENCE ~~

--THE front door closing behind me sounded incredibly loud in the cold, empty house. Living alone for the first time in 45 years wasn't getting any easier. A year after my husband's death, I was still struggling.

My cousin had been going out of her way to keep me company. We'd spent a lot of time together recently. She treated me to lunch, brought me along with her on shopping trips. She seemed determined just to make me smile.
A few days ago, we'd roamed a flea market. She'd picked up a colorful teapot for herself. I'd fallen in love with a small ceramic music box that had cost me only a dollar. It still worked too! It played a tune that was familiar, though I couldn't recall the name of the song. The music box made a lovely addition to the dresser in my guest bedroom.

My cousin and I had just spent a long weekend together on a spur-of-the-moment bus tour. I'd had a wonderful time, but when the trip was over, I came home on my own. Now, standing in my darkened hallway, bags in hand, I realized how alone that was.

I set my bags down, then went into the kitchen. The first thing I did was check my answering machine. One new message. It was from my doctor. I listened, numb, as his tinny voice told me that the mammogram I'd had the week before was "unclear." I would need to come back for another. And soon.

Now I was alone and scared. In that moment, I desperately needed a hug, One I knew wouldn't come. But the tears did.

I was still crying when I heard it, faint yet unmistakable. Music.

Where was it coming from? The farther I walked into the house, the louder it became. It was coming from the guest bedroom.

There on the dresser was the little music box I'd gotten at the flea market. The button to start the music was under the box. There was nothing on the dresser that could have pressed it. And it couldn't have gone off on its own like that. I stood, mystified, my cheeks still wet with tears. Then I realized that I recognized the tinkling melody more and more. I played the music box several times until I remembered the words:

--"I just called to say I love you. / I just called to say how much I care..."--
I smiled. Maybe I wasn't so alone after all. ~~

--GUIDEPOSTS/SE
-----

---MYSTERIOUS WAYS~~

~~~MORE THAN ENOUGH/ THE LORD PROVIDES~

--IT was a beautiful July evening, the sky still bright. I had all the windows down as I drove home from work, the smell of mowed grass drifting in on the breeze. I rolled to a stop at a red light. I found myself not wanting it to change. I didn't relish going home to an empty house.

My life had been in a tailspin ever since my wife told me that our marriage was over, that she'd met someone else. She filed for divorce soon after that. Two years later, I was still struggling.

The traffic light turned green. I eased my foot on the gas. Just as I drove through the intersection, a thought popped into my head, so clear it was almost a command= 'Pray for your wife.'

That's the problem, I thought. I don't have a wife. But the idea was so insistent. I pulled over to the side of the road. Sitting there in the car, with the engine ticking as it cooled and my hands clasped in front of me, I felt a little silly. But I was here, wasn't I? Might as well....

I didn't know what to say. So I just asked God to protect her and remind her that He loved her. "Amen," I concluded hastily, before getting back on the road.

The strange episode soon slipped my mind. Until the next year.

That's when I finally felt ready to date again. I made a profile on a dating website and was matched up with a woman named Nancy. She and I seemed to share a lot of the same values and interests. And she had a beautiful smile.

Nancy and I hit it off right away. In fact, we had more in common than I would have guessed from her profile. Her husband had left her the previous year. "It was a dark time for me," Nancy told me over dinner. "I didn't think I'd get through it."

"When was this?" I asked. But I already knew the answer.

"July of last year," she replied.

I nodded but didn't say anything. Only several dates later would I tell her about the compulsion to pray that had come over me that beautiful summer evening. 'Yes, this was Your doing, Lord?' Thank You. amen~

Nancy and I will soon celebrate our nineteenth wedding anniversary. Every day of these 19 years we have spent together, I have prayed for my wife--the wife God told me to pray for before we'd even met. Yes, God does work in mysterious ways, indeed. ["Thank You, Lord. You truly are enough for us, Your people. "]
--GUIDEPOSTS~--"Always Enough" / Casting Crowns / -<https://youtu.be/PnmBmXPFPEk>
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