I didn’t even own a gun. I had been in the middle of my nightly routine when the strange thought popped into my head. Now I just sat on my bed, staring blankly at the wall. It felt as though a literal weight were pressing down on me.
Suddenly something else snapped into focus in my mind, like mental whiplash. Not a thought, exactly, but an image. An imposing, rectangular shape. A billboard. Pushing aside the other thoughts until it was all I could visualize, looming over lanes of traffic. It had a black background with red lettering. Simple, straightforward. It was faded from months in the sun but still legible. Like any other sign you’d see on the freeway, hawking new car models or phone deals. But this one was pushing something different. In no-nonsense letters, which stood out sharply against the plain background, it had a phone number for a prayer request line.
Wait a second. I know that sign! I’d seen this particular billboard hundreds of times on my drive to school. I’d never given it more than a cursory glance. But now it was all I could see. A prayer line? I’d never been one to pray for things. I’d certainly never called a prayer line. I mean, who did that?
But I had to do something.
I was in my mid-twenties and had dissolved my one-year marriage. My husband had been abusive, both emotionally and physically. I’d finally reached my breaking point when he
came at me with a large kitchen knife. I fled our house—his house—with nothing but a bag of clothes. Ever since, I’d been staying with my mother. In my old childhood bedroom.
This story is from the Dec/Jan 2020 edition of Mysterious Ways.
Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 8,500+ magazines and newspapers.
Already a subscriber ? Sign In
This story is from the Dec/Jan 2020 edition of Mysterious Ways.
Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 8,500+ magazines and newspapers.
Already a subscriber? Sign In
Ivy Dishes
“My mom found a house for us to look at,” said my fiancé, Jon. “It’s in Richfield, not far from where I grew up.”
The Duet
“Can you perform a hymn for us next week?” my pastor asked me after Sunday service.
The Girl in the Dream
Was this a church? The high, vaulted ceilings made it seem like one—almost but not exactly.
Straight From the Fish's Mouth
Florence, Italy. I’d been there before on one of those scruffy five-dollar-a-day youth-hostel jaunts through Europe, but now, just graduated from college, I was wondering what to do with my life.
Divine Callings
Have you ever felt called to a purpose?
A Doll's Hat
My fears around the surgery built all day.... God, please let me be as strong as my young patients are.
The Christmas Clock
It was December 2012, a week before Christmas. I was sitting alone at my kitchen table in Missouri, watching the hands of my Christmas clock tick toward the hour. I was waiting to hear it play “Silent Night,” which it did every night at 11 o’clock. The tune always lifted my spirits. But the second hand passed the hour mark without a peep. My heart sank. The music mechanism must have broken. You couldn’t have picked a better metaphor for my life—I kept on ticking, but the joy was missing.
Luca
It was a sunny October day. My husband, Anthony, and I sat with our three kids—Ella, seven; Luca, five; and Zoe, two—as they drew with sidewalk chalk in the driveway. The whole family was enjoying the last bit of nice weather before the winter. Everything felt warm and peaceful.
Secrets of the Labyrinth
I WAS AT THE ENTRY OF Battery Park’s Labyrinth of Contemplation in New York City. A winding pathway of rocks and grass stretched out before me. After studying labyrinths for weeks, I wanted to try one. I’d learned that these fantastical, circuitous pathways can act as prayer tools, helping calm the mind and soul. I sure needed that. Beyond this quiet park, the city had been hard hit by the Covid-19 pandemic. Though cases were down and things seemed to be improving, I still felt overwhelmed and uncertain about the future. Will I find the spiritual comfort I’m looking for? I wondered. Adjusting my face mask, I took a deep breath and began….
The Transfiguration
Whenever I think about the Transfiguration, my mind travels back to the fifth- and sixth-grade Sunday school class I once coached to act it out for the congregation. The task seemed nearly impossible.