Inhaltsverzeichnis für Feb/Mar 2026 in Guideposts

I smiled while reading Buck Storm’s devotion on page 51, a selection from our devotional Walking in Grace. Recently I’d found myself in similar straits. I was hiking a new mountain trail in the Connecticut Berkshires with Gracie and our friend Amy. We’d researched the route on a web page that rated it a moderate climb. Yet here I was with my hands on my knees, breathing hard. I’d stopped along a narrow ridge. “You need a minute?” Amy asked, looking over her shoulder. “I’m going to leave a strongly worded comment on that web page,” I gasped. This shouldn’t be so hard, I thought. Am I just getting old? Gracie was 10—roughly the dog equivalent of my age, 71—and she was happily using the break to roll on her…

A STORY FOR EVERY NEED Years ago, a friend was struggling with a debilitating back injury. I knew just what to do! I looked through my collection of past Guideposts issues to find a story by someone who’d faced a similar challenge. I read her Marilyn Ludolf’s story of miraculous healing from the July 1981 issue. We prayed the same scriptures that Marilyn had prayed, and little by little, my friend got better. Throughout the 1980s and ’90s, I shared stories from Guideposts with friends and family whenever I thought it might help them. Eventually, I had so many issues of the magazine that it became difficult to locate the right story when I needed it. So I created a database in Microsoft Word. I type in each story’s issue…

I was a young marine sergeant, only a few weeks into my latest assignment as a military instructor at Goodfellow Air Force Base in San Angelo, Texas, where there was a small Marine Corps detachment. After spending two years stationed at the U.S. base in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, I was thrilled to be just a sixhour drive from my family. I even splurged on a new compact car, a Nissan Sentra, so that I could have something reliable to get around in and visit when I could. I’d checked out the car thoroughly. One Sunday about 7 a.m., after a long week of training new marines, sailors, airmen and soldiers, I hopped in my Nissan and headed for a park to hike and clear my mind. As I drove through…

During a single recording session in mid-April 1956, legendary singer/songwriter Chuck Berry, along with pianist Johnnie Johnson, famed for his left-hand “choppin’ bass,” laid down the tracks for four songs in a studio on Chicago’s South Side. One of those songs roaring out of the gate became an anthem for the ages: the rollicking “Roll Over Beethoven.” Its refrain, “Roll over Beethoven / Tell Tchaikovsky the news,” boldly announced that the age of classical composers was over and that rock ’n’ roll had arrived. Little known then was that those iconic lyrics were also a way for Berry to tease his sister Lucy, a classically trained mezzo-soprano, who’d monopolized the family piano when they were growing up in St. Louis. “Lucy was the culprit that delayed rock ’n’ roll music…

Matt and I always knew our 1942 house would need more TLC than a new build. But in the past year alone, we’d had to replace the hot water heater, the oven and the dishwasher, each of which I’d overseen. Matt helped as much as he could, but he worked long hours. Now a pipe under our upstairs bathtub and shower was leaking through the living room ceiling. Another problem for me to solve! I would have to pick the right plumber for the job and supervise them to make sure the task got done right. With no shower for our family of four to use until it got fixed, I knew I’d better get on it. Still, my first call was to my friend Sarah. “I can’t take much…

“The Lord is my shepherd; I have all that I need.”—PSALM 23:1 (NLT) My wife’s love of exercise hasn’t wavered through 35 years of marriage. I have my suspicions she might be a clandestine superhero. “How about a walk?” she said one day. Now a walk could mean anything from a quick mile around the neighborhood to summiting Everest. As it turned out, it was somewhere in between—a steep, up-and-back climb on a local mountain trail. But it was a nice day, and I felt good. Maybe even good enough to keep up with Wonder Woman. Two miles in, I questioned that logic. She waited for me by the side of the trail as I struggled to catch up. “You okay?” “Awesome,” I lied. “Are you even breathing hard?” “Don’t…

From the outside, I looked like I had it all together. I was 30. I’d been married for nine years to Mandy, whom I’d fallen for in the second grade. We had two adorable little kids. I was a graphic designer and had just moved our family from Illinois to Nashville, Tennessee, to start an incredible new job. But on the inside, it was a much different story. I was mentally overwhelmed, emotionally numb, unful-filled at work, disconnected from God and starting to blame my wife for all of it. There was a discontent that had shadowed me for years, and it was getting to the point when I couldn’t run from it anymore. I had grown up in a Christian home. I’d gone to a little Christian school and…

HE KNEW BEFORE WE DID “Keeping little bottoms dry and healthy”—that’s the motto of our diaper bank here in the Ozarks. As director, I’m responsible for getting diapers to our partners, who distribute them to people in need in our community. With each delivery from the regional diaper bank—about 6,000 diapers that we package into sets of 25 and 50—I lead our team in prayer over them. Usually, I ask for God’s blessings for the families getting the diapers. Children in foster care or shelters, folks at food banks and clothes closets—we supply some 11 partners in all. But one afternoon, I had to add something else to our prayer, something urgent. “God, please help us find enough size-four diapers to fill the need!” I asked. I’d somehow left size-four…

INEFFABLE SOURCE On May 16, 2025, the day of my prostate cancer diagnosis, I reached for the Guideposts’ Walking in Grace devotional I had in my office. It was the 2024 edition. Its devotion for May 16, by Sabra Ciancanelli, described the “ineffable joy” of coasting downhill on a bicycle—a joy so full, it couldn’t be captured in words. Sabra wrote that she stopped trying to describe it and simply lived it. Her words spoke directly to me. Since 2021, I have written for Guideposts, hoping to encourage others. But now it was Guideposts encouraging me. The devotions have become more than daily readings. They are companions, reminding me that I do not walk alone. The pages keep my eyes fixed on the One from whom all blessings flow. Ineffable…

“You may wish your big bold change is just a finger snap away, but it’s not supposed to be. It’s between the jump and the landing where all the good stuff happens.”HODA KOTB, author and former Today show coanchor “We often equate the full, abundant life with a happy, skippy, healthy and wealthy life. And in fact, that abundant life that Jesus promises us is actually one of intimacy and connection and comfort and strength with Him.”NIKI HARDY, author, on how her faith changed during cancer treatment after her mother and sister both died of the disease “Love doesn’t divide the pool of goodness available to all humanity but multiplies it for everyone.”MARTHA BECK, speaker, teacher and author “Decisions will be made by choice or by chance. Because not deciding…

July 6, 2019. One month since my husband, Granger, and I had lost our three-year-old son, River, to a drowning in our backyard pool. It was the first time I had been alone since Riv’s funeral. Granger and our other two children—seven-year-old daughter, London, and five-year-old son, Lincoln—were at my mother-in-law’s for the weekend. I had been with them but came home early. I just needed to be by myself. I walked into River’s bedroom. He’d never spent much time in here, except to sleep. He’d always been running, climbing, exploring. Or racing around in his go-kart, his red hair swooping wildly. Full speed ahead with the biggest smile on his face, that was Riv. I stared at his empty crib, at the places he’d chewed on the wood while…

I sank into the family room couch, reached for the remote and clicked on the evening news. But I barely looked up, absorbed by a word game on my phone. I badly needed distraction after another long, tiring day. This was often the first moment I had to catch my breath. I would tap the screen to play, then feel my brain relax. Six chances to guess a five-letter word. “There was a traffic accident on Wabash Avenue.…” I heard the news anchor say. Wabash? That was near my husband Eric’s work. I glanced up. Wait. There was some kind of smudge on the anchor’s forehead. No, a cross. Of course, I thought. Today’s Ash Wednesday. How could I have not known? Still, Lent wasn’t something we made a huge…

My husband, Roger, and I were sitting outside our house taking in the desert sunset one November evening, something we liked to do even after more than 30 years of marriage, when he asked, “What will you do if something happens to me? Would you stay here? Would you move?” Talk about ruining the mood! But I knew those weren’t idle thoughts. Our life together had been active and adventurous until two years earlier, when Roger suffered a stroke that required surgery to place a stent in his carotid artery. Since then, he’d needed three more surgeries, including a triple heart bypass that had me begging God to bring my husband back to me. Now questions of mortality hung over us. I worried about Roger, who had a family history…

Every day I live in pain. Mostly it’s my left arm. The limb I almost lost in a freak accident a few years ago. Now my brain erroneously senses sharp pain there at every moment. I’m numb in several fingers. I can’t grip things with my thumb. I used to be the big, strong, goto fix-it guy at the church where I’m an executive pastor. The guy who could lift his kids and swing them around without breaking a sweat. I’m not that guy anymore. And yet I give thanks for the accident that forever changed my life. I’ve come to believe that pain can be a blessing. That loss itself can be an opportunity. Not convinced? Well, let me tell you my story.… It happened on my daughter Cara’s…

I was dreading the crowds as I drove up the hill to the Huntington Museum of Art’s annual used book sale that day last August. But accompanying my sister Rebekkah to her favorite event was the least I could do. She’d taken such good care of me after my devastating fall two years before. My fractured hip, pelvis and femur were finally healed. I was walking without pain. But I was 71, for heaven’s sake. And feeling old and tired. A has-been. I’d been a nurse for more than 40 years. Folks used to count on me, even look up to me. I’d been quick-thinking and strong. I’d lifted my share of patients into and out of hospital beds. Those days were long gone. I parked in an accessible spot…

Mike Toberer (Mission Possible, page 28) and Mission Mules, the Christian nonprofit organization he founded with his wife, Michele, continue to provide critical aid in remote areas hit by natural disasters, including communities in West Virginia, Virginia, Maryland and Kentucky made inaccessible by severe weather. In July 2025, Mike and the team spent weeks in the Texas Hill Country delivering supplies after the flooding of the Guadalupe River. Mike recently deployed (without the mules) to Jamaica to bring food and clean water to Hurricane Melissa survivors. Mission Mules is committed to long-term support, returning to communities to help rebuild homes and repair property. Remember that elderly woman in Tennessee with the rifle in her lap? Mike still brings her supplies and visits with her. The Toberers credit Samaritan’s Purse, Orphan…

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It was early May, my first day in my volunteer job as groundskeeper for an affordable senior housing complex, a way for me to stay busy during retirement. Besides, I was doing a favor for my son Joshua, who’s the housing manager here. I’d told him I would help out on one condition: I wouldn’t have to deal with people. Before retiring, I’d been a township building inspector, and I’d handled enough complaints to last a lifetime. I had also served in the Army, raised four kids, taken care of my mom, who had dementia. I’d seen a lot in my 76 years, and Lord knows, there wasn’t much that could surprise me at this point, especially about my fellow human beings. I was minding my own business, trimming weeds…

Lord, why me? Rain streamed from the brim of my hat with no hint that it would ever stop. Even at midday, the sky was as dark as dusk. I swung up onto my lead mule, Max, settling into the saddle. I wondered if he felt what I did: a sense of dread at the destruction all around us. My fellow mule packer, Bob Howitz, and I had just arrived in Montreat, North Carolina. It was September 29, 2024, three days after Hurricane Helene made landfall. We’d come here to help, but now, in the face of such destruction—the sheer scale of it, trees down, bridges gone, roads washed away—I wondered if there was anything anyone could do, especially two guys with a string of nine mules. I glanced at…

ACROSS 1 ___ Wednesday 4 Guideposts devotional, ___ Things Are Possible 7 Amish romance by Amy Clipston, A Heart Set ____ 8 You plant it to start a garden 10 Michaelangelo sculpture of Mary holding Jesus after his crucifixion 11 Whitney Houstonʼs hit “I _____ Dance With Somebody (Who Loves Me)ˮ 13 One day __ _ time 14 It is patient and kind, according to I Corinthians 13 15 A small amount 16 “__ Girlˮ by The Temptations 18 Last year in high school (abbr.) 19 “Blessed are those who have not ____ and yet have believedˮ (John 20:29) 22 Thereʼs no place like it 24 A horseʼs gait thatʼs faster than a walk 26 Moon phase 27 A ceremony of love 30 Symbols of love 31 Clevelandʼs great lake…

It wasn’t like me, but I wasn’t feeling so sunny that bright spring morning. And not for any particular reason. I have so many blessings—a great job, a loving family, good friends. Still, it was like I had a case of the Mondays…on a Saturday. I had to pick up a few things at Walmart but just didn’t feel like being around people. Lord, let me get my shopping done quickly, I thought, pulling into the parking lot. And maybe you can help give me a better attitude too. I grabbed a cart and sped over to the store’s skin-care aisle for face wash. I turned the corner and—whoa!—nearly bumped my cart into a woman who was standing right in front of the shelf I needed. “I’m sorry,” I said.…

I’d been on the pipeline job as a laborer for five months, the lone female in a field of men. My job was to work directly with the engineer as he marked the bends in the pipe. A hundred yards in front of us, the backhoe clanked and rattled as it cut a five-foot ditch across the northwest Colorado high desert. Climbing up on a rocky hill and staring ahead at the long ditch, I decided it looked like a giant snake easing its way through the sagebrush and pinyon pine trees. Snakes were on my mind. As they had been every minute of every day since the start of the job. It had been an unusually dry year, and the snakes were plentiful. We’d heard the warning at our…