Editor’s note: We asked readers for their stories of finding God in the unexpected. Today we feature a selection of responses.
Quick Takes: Where have you found God in the unexpected?
In the providence that floods my life daily from the gifts of food, money, and even ant traps. Frequently, the providence comes before I even formulate a prayer to ask for the blessing.
—Mary Ann Cottone
While driving late at night and feeling tired, I received a warning from God to turn on my high beams just in time to miss a deer crossing in front of my path.
—Peggy Tobias
During my low moments, suddenly someone comes to say hello. A family member calls. A neighbor gives food, and someone abroad will ask how [I am].
—Agnes Sabana
In walking with our elderly parishioners.
—Kathy Shields
Looking out the window to see the tide come in and out and the birds wading through the mudflats patiently looking for food.
—Christine Kong
In the words of my children.
—Renata Liew
Nursing Home
I have found God in my younger sister’s nursing home. The residents there have had strokes, have dementia or Alzheimer’s, and most are in wheelchairs or bedridden. My sister is paralyzed on her left side, completely deaf, can no longer speak, and is bed/special chair-ridden. When I visit, she never complains. She’s joyful and greets me with a huge smile. She makes the Sign of the Cross when I take her Communion. She prays before she eats. She thanks God for another day of life. Some may think her life has no more meaning, yet she shows me gratitude. AMDG.
—Patti McNeil
Working the 12 Steps
When I unexpectedly and reluctantly first found myself at an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting I was not a nonbeliever, but I had no trust nor closeness with Christ. But working the 12 steps of AA taught me to be thankful for the gift of God’s grace and his love for me.
I turned my will and my life over to God as I understood him. And unexpectedly, I met the loving God and recognized Christ’s sacrifice for me. Who knew that he was there all the time?
—Reader M.
Significant Psalm
Last year I was in the day surgery of our local hospital awaiting the removal of a cataract. All the busyness had passed, and I was sitting quietly aware of a great sense of peace. In the silence of the ground floor of the hospital, I was transported back 42 years, when I was on the top floor in the same hospital, in the maternity unit where I had been for three days, desperately trying to stall the premature birth of our wee daughter, as she was only 28 weeks gestation. From my room I had a magnificent view of Ben Lomond, a mountain in Scotland. The prayer that was evoked by that scene was Psalm 121:1–2, “I lift up my eyes to the hills. Where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.” This had become my mantra throughout those days. The puzzling thing was the sense of peace, such consolation and comfort, because, although Christina was born, small but alive, on 21st June, she died six weeks later. It was beautiful, and more was to come. When I came home after surgery, as I walked into my kitchen, the calendar had fallen from the wall. Each month had a verse from the Psalms. As I turned to the month of June and hung it back up, guess what I read with my new eyes? Psalm 121, “I lift up my eyes to the hills.” I hadn’t noticed it before. Wonderful.
—Mary Pat McKenna
I Know You
I went to WACOM 2026 in Vilnius, Lithuania, from Singapore. I had signed up for Bibliodrama. During the session, I paired up with a Lithuanian whom I did not know at all. We took turns to look at each other’s eyes and face, from the eyes of God and from the eyes of love, for two minutes. After that, we shared with each other about the experience. My tears rolled down when my partner said, “I know you have gone through a lot in your life.” It was God saying, “I know you.”
—Eileen Goh
New Place
It can be hard to see God in the sameness of normal, ordinary life. The quiet reassurance of God’s ongoing presence is easily drowned out by everyday reality: the tragedy of war, the division and inability to communicate between political parties, and our own personal struggles.
But when I get away to a new place for a few days, I notice God’s numerous gifts more readily. And I remember that God gives us signs of his presence when we can open our hearts to see. I glimpsed God’s goodness and love in small, unexpected moments: a heart-shaped rock on the beach, an incredibly soft and bouncy Golden Retriever puppy at the farmers’ market, the damp morning coolness of a foggy beach, deep conversation with a close friend, quiet moments of prayer in an outdoor chapel, and casual conversations with strangers that reminded me we’re all in this beautiful and heartbreaking life together.
—Cathy Cunningham
Walking on a Dark Night
I was entering a time of some difficulty. Tomorrow would be a stressful day in many ways, I knew, so I walked along our country road just before bedtime to think about what the morning would require from me, and I had not a little anxiety in my heart.
It was after 10:00 p.m., a damp February evening, dark, quiet, and still, on the outskirts of Kirkwall, Orkney. There was a thick fog at ground level, but high overhead, the stars were visible—clear and bright.
It was very dark. Two cars with full headlamps approached me from behind, and each time the car threw a circular area of bright light around my central shadow against the bank of fog in front of me. A third car traveling in the same direction cast another shadow of me, only this time my shadow was accompanied by a second one beside me.
Of course, these things have explanations, which were clear to me after some thought, but momentarily, they were miraculous, and I knew—I absolutely knew—that I was being helped, not just then, but that I would be helped always. And in that approaching tomorrow, I never felt alone, and as always, that tomorrow is now a yesterday. I need not fear any tomorrows, ever, not after that night.
—Paul Heppleston
Healing
I was diagnosed with a terminal brain disease several years ago. I was admitted to a nursing home for rehabilitation, but it was assumed I was entering the last phase of my condition. During that time, I was led by the Holy Spirit to reconnect with my Catholic faith, which I had mostly abandoned. I began praying to our Holy Mother, discovered St. Padre Pio and began praying [for his intercession], and began praying the Liturgy of the Hours. Within six months my symptoms had cleared, I was no longer confined to a wheelchair, and my cognitive decline reversed completely. My doctors were amazed but found no biomarkers of the disease! Blessed and praised be Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Every day is a blessing for me and my family.
—Carl Ladd
