I was happy yesterday to hear a stranger talking about the value of walking, the way that it “brought him home to himself.” Today I want to write about another tool that brings us home to ourselves, and that tool is guidance.
What do I mean by guidance? And aren’t Morning Pages, Artist Dates, and walks all a reliable source of guidance? Yes. The tools we have just addressed do guide us. But we may find ourselves hungry for more specific guidance. And so, we put our requests for guidance in writing. We ask a specific question, “What should I do about X?” and then listen for a reply, which we also put in writing. We “hear” an answer to our query. We write out what we hear. And what we hear may be simple and direct. That is the nature of guidance.
Taking to the page with a complex problem, one that we have been unable to solve with all the thought our intellect can muster, we may hear back, “Don’t worry. All is well.” Pestering guidance further, “But what should I do,” we may hear the same simple message: “Don’t worry. All is well.” Frustrated, we may exclaim, “Are you listening to me?” And the reply, “Don’t worry. All is well,” finally seeps into our psyche. For a moment we consider the possibility that our worry is unnecessary, and indeed, all is well.
We are being asked to surrender our stubborn will. We are being asked to let go of our determination to force a solution. In twelve-step jargon, we are being asked to “turn it over.” We are being asked to trust, to “let go and let God.” The guidance we have received is not so much simple-minded as it is profound. We are being asked to stop trying to play God, and see what the universe has in mind.
Harriet asked for guidance about a troublesome personal relationship. She found herself overly dependent upon her partner. Little by little, he had undercut her, gradually isolating her from her world. As she came to lean on him, he became more and more controlling. A self-pronounced expert on all things great and small, he overrode her opinions, convincing her that he knew better. Criticizing her friends, he led Harriet to abandon them. After all, he knew better. And her money wasn’t safe from him either. He ran up large bills on her accounts, convincing her his purchases were “necessities.” Increasingly, Harriet felt herself to be “held hostage.” Finally claustrophobic—she no longer drove herself anywhere—Harriet, in desperation, turned to guidance.
“What should I do about X?” she wrote. The guidance came back, “Release him. Your needs will be met by others and by yourself.”
Harriet was shocked; the guidance seemed blunt to her. So, she asked again, “What should I do about X?” And again, the guidance came back, “Release him.” This seemed like impossible guidance—after all, she counted on him for so much. How could she simply release him? Her mind paled at the thought. “Release him gently,” the guidance continued. Harriet sought further guidance on just how to do that.
“Write to him,” guidance directed. And so, Harriet did, releasing him gently, not mentioning his flaws, but her own.
“Dear X, I have taken a few days to consider our relationship. Here is what I saw: I have become overly dependent upon you. During the pandemic, we became too dependent on each other. We were each other’s sole contact. Speaking for myself, I became codependent, relying on you too much, for too many things. Now that the pandemic is over, our shrunken worlds seem too little. It’s time for our worlds to enlarge and our paths to separate. I will be forever grateful for your help and support. After all, we got through the pandemic without COVID, and sober. I wish you all the best.”
Harriet sent her note by email, and found herself feeling far stronger and more free than she had felt in many months. She made several phone calls to her abandoned friends. They were glad to hear from her, offering to meet her for dinner, offering to stop by for coffee. “Welcome back,” one friend told her. “We thought we’d lost you for good.”
Harriet received her friends’ tidings with joy and relief. She picked up the reins of her runaway life. Guidance, simple and direct—“release him”—had given her back her life. No longer claustrophobic, she ventured out, taking back her life a bit at a time. Guidance had rendered her both bold and gentle. She felt like herself again. By releasing her partner, she had released herself.
If, as Harriet’s story shows, guidance is wise in affairs of the heart, guidance has also proved itself trustworthy in matters of health.
Gloria went to visit her colleague who lived at 7,800 feet. She abruptly felt punk; chills and loss of appetite. “It’s altitude sickness,” her colleague weighed in. “You need oxygen.” And so Gloria borrowed an oxygen machine and inhaled deeply, feeling better immediately. “You’ll feel better permanently at a lower altitude,” her colleague advised her. And so, sick and reluctant, Gloria set out for home, expecting to feel better fast. But she did not feel better; instead, she felt worse.
“Go to your doctor. It’s not altitude sickness,” guidance advised her. “You have an infection. Go see your doctor,” guidance insisted.
And so she went to see her doctor. “It’s not altitude sickness,” her doctor confirmed. “You have a kidney infection. Let me put you on some strong antibiotics. You’ll feel better fast.” And so Gloria obeyed her doctor’s orders. By the time she had taken her third dose of medicine, she found herself feeling better—much better. Guidance was encouraging. “You’re on the right track. Just follow your doctor’s orders,” she was told. And so she did. “You need rest,” the guidance continued. “Sleep will help you.” And so Gloria slept and slept.
“I’m glad it wasn’t altitude sickness,” Gloria told her friends. “Guidance insisted that it wasn’t.” Under the care of a first-rate doctor, Gloria’s heath was restored. “Just follow your doctor’s orders,” guidance had advised. And so she had, mending quickly. “Your doctor is very good,” guidance insisted. “Trust her, and take your medicine.” Gloria did as directed, trusting her guidance to trust her doctor. In a week’s time, she was once again fit as a fiddle. Guidance, old-fashioned guidance, had led her to modern medicine.
Ingrid turned to guidance because she felt she needed advice. For four years, she had been in a committed relationship. Officially happy, officially “settled,” she trusted her partner to be faithful, as she was. By virtue of his work as a bartender, he often worked late, arriving home in the small hours long after she had gone to sleep. In the mornings, she was up and about while he slept in. Sometimes she felt that their differing schedules meant that they barely saw each other. She told herself that the hours they spent together might be short, but “choice.” She often woke up when he came to bed, exhausted. They didn’t make love as often as she would have liked. Sometimes she grew frustrated. They barely seemed to make love at all. Still, all was “fine,” and she scolded herself for her discontent—until the day when she asked guidance for help.
“What can I do about our largely platonic relationship,” she wrote, expecting to be told to grin and bear it. But guidance had a surprise for her. “He’s not faithful,” guidance announced. “He hasn’t been for some time.” Accusing herself of paranoia, Ingrid sought to ignore her guidance. But the whispered guidance proved to be strong. For the first time, she noticed that her partner often showered before coming to bed with her. “It relaxes me,” was his explanation. “I’m wound up after work.” Ingrid bought his explanation—until the night she didn’t. It was a night like so many others. He came home and headed for a shower. “Wait,” she heard herself say. “Come here.” Startled, her partner responded, “I’ll be there in a moment. Let me wash up.”
“No, come here,” she heard herself insisting, and she held out her arms. Reluctantly, her partner surrendered to her embrace—and that is when she knew. The showers were no mere habit. She detected the scent of another woman. Her perfume clung to his neck and shoulders.
“You’re having an affair,” she burst out. “I can smell it on you.” And she could.
“You’re crazy,” her partner retorted. “I live with you.”
“You’ve been having an affair for a while now. I was just late to the party.” Ingrid quoted what guidance had told her.
“You’re crazy.”
But Ingrid was not crazy. Her guidance wasn’t crazy either. She pulled the bedclothes around her. “You can deny it, but I know. That’s why we’re not making love.”
Abruptly, her partner broke down. He sobbed, suddenly confessing, “I didn’t want you to know.”
“Well, I do know,” Ingrid told him, and gathering the sheets around herself, she staggered from the bed. “I trusted you,” she said. “I trusted that you were just tired. What a fool I was. Now leave! Leave! Leave!”
“I couldn’t help it,” her partner protested. “She threw herself at me.”
“No excuses. Just leave. Take your goddamn shower and just leave.”
“I’ll go in the morning. It’s the middle of the night.” He reached for her, begging forgiveness.
“Don’t touch me,” Ingrid snapped, and she felt a sudden surge of strength. “Pack your clothes and go.”
This scene unfolded two years ago. Her partner left, and Ingrid resolved that in the future she would listen to—and trust—the guidance she received. And so she has.
In Ingrid’s case, guidance bore bad news, although she was glad to know.
Sometimes, when I talk about guidance, I am met with skepticism. “Julia, you make it sound so easy.” Guidance is easy, I answer, often quoting from my friend, psychic Sonia Choquette: “Guidance is natural. Don’t think of it as hard. Just try it.” Trying it is easy: you simply formulate a question, put it in writing, and listen for a response. The response, often simple and direct and prompt, is guidance.
“But what if it’s just my imagination?” I am further asked. “Well then,” I respond, “your imagination is far wiser and more positive than you had previously thought.” If it is just your imagination, it is leading you in positive ways. Your queries meet with prompt answers, answers that may address a hidden issue.
For example, when I asked recently about my writing, guidance responded, “Your writing is solid, and so is your sobriety,” addressing a hidden concern that guidance kept tabs on. Don’t be surprised by the wisdom of guidance. It talks of anything and everything. No topic is taboo.
“Julia, where does guidance come from?” I am often asked. And I answer frankly, “I don’t know. A source of higher wisdom.”
I’m questioned further. “Angels?”
“I don’t know. They prefer to remain anonymous.” And so, the matter rests. The source—or sources—of guidance remains mysterious. What matters is not what they’re called, but that I call on them. Over the years, my faith has built, as guidance has proved itself to be reliable.
Catherine initially distrusted guidance. A firm rationalist, she discounted what seemed to her to be “too woo-woo.” And yet, she had to admit that guidance outstripped her logic. Take the matter of her marriage.
“You will soon meet a great love,” guidance declared. Single for many years, Catherine had given up on love. She had resigned herself to life without a partner.
“Don’t tease me,” she scolded guidance, only to have it repeat, “You will soon meet a great love.”
But meet him she did, and without the heads-up from guidance, she might have missed him. After all, they met in a grocery line—hardly an auspicious romantic place. He invited her to a nearby Starbucks for coffee, and she accepted, to her own surprise. One coffee date led to another, and then another. Their conversations proved effortless. Startling herself, she invited him to a home-cooked dinner. He accepted, and one thing led to another. Soon they were spending whole weekends together.
“You are for me a great love,” Catherine confessed to him.
“And you for me,” he replied. “I’m so glad I listened to that little voice that said, ‘Ask her for coffee.’”
“That voice was guidance, wasn’t it?” Catherine ventured, telling him, “I was told I’d meet you. I’m so glad I listened.”
“I’m so glad we both listened,” he ventured back. Happily married for four years now, they both make a practice of listening.
Guidance peers around corners, often giving us a heads-up on what is to come. Guidance, in such cases, may come first as an inkling, a funny feeling that something is afoot. “What about X,” we may query, seeking further guidance. The response that we may receive can seem maddeningly vague. “All is well,” we are told when we press for specific answers. And so, we pester guidance, only to hear further: “All is well.” And, just at the moment, all is well. We reluctantly decide that our worries are neurotic. We have been taken care of before, and we will be taken care of again. Guidance promises us a sunny future, with guidance enough to steer clear of any pitfalls.
“You will be cared for,” guidance assures us. To the extent that we rely upon guidance, this is true. It’s not so much that guidance prevents catastrophes, rather, it warns us of impending doom, and gives us clues as to how best to navigate during difficult times. The cues and clues that come to us from guidance are often just enough to give us a sense of ongoing well-being. As we marshal our resources, we find that we do have “enough.” Guidance is not Pollyanna, but it is optimistic. As we trust it to guide us, we experience its resilience. Fully warned of approaching trouble—that “funny feeling”—we find ourselves planning ahead about how best to handle trouble when it comes. And we experience emotional sobriety. “I will be cared for,” we assure ourselves, and so we are.
Clarisse had been a publishing professional for twenty-one years, holding down a powerful job at a major publishing house. Her job was secure—until the day it wasn’t. Long a practitioner of guidance, Clarisse relied upon it to help her navigate the twists and turns of her profession. Checking in with guidance was routine for her, as was the frequent reassurance that “all was well.”
And so it came as a shock to her when guidance warned suddenly and insistently, “Your job is in jeopardy. Prepare to leave.”
A shake-up in the upper echelons of her company had left her feeling insecure. But she had written off her “funny feeling” as paranoia. Now, she wasn’t so sure. The guidance sounded dire. She had outstayed her colleagues of many years; one by one they had been let go. Now, she wondered queasily, wasn’t it her turn? “Your job is in jeopardy. Prepare to leave,” guidance warned her. She spent an uneasy week searching the internet for jobs of comparable weight that she might be qualified for. Her long years as an editor actually worked against her. Her salary was expensive, and her long experience rendered her over the hill. Younger editors were cheaper, and had “potential.” Black Friday, Clarisse called the date of her firing. She was let go by email. “They didn’t have the courtesy to tell me in person,” she lamented. “Not after twenty-one years.” But she cleared out her desk, cleared out her office, and, boxes in hand, caught an Uber home. Reeling from the shock, she set her cartons in her living room, where she sank onto a couch.
“All is well,” she heard a voice declare. It was guidance.
“What do you mean ‘all is well,’” she demanded, grabbing for a pen and a notebook.
“You’ve been miserable in your job for several years,” she heard, and wrote. It was true. In its latest iteration, her company had become more and more corporate. Gone were the happy days of working with writers one-on-one. Now they were dealing with authors by committee. Their impersonal termination email was the new corporate style.
“But what do I do now?” Clarisse wrote. Her job had been her life, she realized.
“You need rest and calm,” guidance replied, and she realized it was true. She had been in harness to her job, ignoring the toll it took on her nerves to “be corporate.”
“I’ve been let go.” She practiced saying the sentence.
“You’re free,” guidance replied. “There is a place for you and your work.”
“But where?” Clarisse demanded to know.
“All is well,” guidance replied, as it would continue to state in the coming months as Clarisse searched for a new position.
“All is well” proved to be true. Clarisse landed a new job with an old company that prided itself on being human, not corporate.
“Welcome home,” guidance proclaimed on the day she settled into her new office. With guidance as her steadying force, she had maintained emotional sobriety during her job hunt.
As Clarisse’s case illustrated, guidance points us in the direction of our highest good. All too frequently, we have “settled,” not believing we deserved better. But we do deserve better, and guidance nudges us to take actions on our own behalf.
Christian was in a committed partnership with a partner who was mean-tempered. Feeling himself lucky to have a partner at all, Christian ignored the many small cruelties his partner inflicted. His injuries, hurt feelings, were slight, he told himself, and perhaps he was just too sensitive. Rather than face the abuse hurled his way, he blamed himself. After all, his low self-worth told him he was lucky to have a partner at all. But his guidance told him differently.
“Find a church,” his guidance directed. Reluctantly, he listened.
Skeptical, but depressed, he turned to religion to solve his wounds. As luck would have it, the church he joined was known for its positivity. Sunday after Sunday, he soaked in its positive message. “We believe the Lord intends us to be happy, joyous, and free.” Christian felt anything but. Increasingly, he felt his partnership to be in contradiction to the message he was hearing. As for his partner, she grew more and more sour. She didn’t like the direction Christian’s newfound faith was taking him in. Several times, he stuck up for himself when she sniped. Accustomed to having the upper hand, she disliked this turn of events. The matter came to a head when Christian heard a sermon that reinforced his faith in guidance. The sermon urged “going to God directly” when faced with a difficult situation. Christian heard the message clearly. He went to God for guidance, and was told, “Leave her.” The guidance was blunt, and not at all what he expected. He expected to be tutored in patience. After all, wasn’t long suffering spiritual?
No, his new church told him, it was masochism. At first, Christian bristled at the ugly word. But as he reflected further, he saw that the shoe fit. Listening to guidance, he screwed his courage to the sticking post. After one last diatribe by her describing his many flaws, he said simply, “I’m leaving you.” Refusing to be drawn into a debate, he did leave.
Over the next few months, newly lighthearted, he came to believe that God did intend for him to be “happy, joyous, and free.” A full year elapsed, and then he met his new partner—a fellow congregant of his church of positivity. She was as kind as his prior mate was mean. Christian’s guidance was blunt once again. “Marry her,” it said this time. And Christian did.
Guidance often urges behaviors that may seem, at first flush, to be selfish. Christian’s guidance could be boiled down to “Don’t be a doormat.” Higher forces often urge self-worth. This is because, afraid to appear selfish, we have often lost ourselves.
Dawn is a gifted theater director. She has won many prizes for her skills, but she has lost many friends due to her volatility. Skilled at guiding actors, she lacked the ability to guide herself, often exploding in rehearsals and staging temper tantrums. Her actors were intimidated by her temperament. She blew hot and cold: one minute, praising them, and the next, scolding them. No one knew what to expect, only that the end result of her process was “brilliant.” And so, they put up with her erraticism, telling themselves the end justified the means. As time passed, Dawn’s reputation grew—brilliant but difficult. She began to lose jobs for which she was well-qualified.
“What’s wrong?” she found herself pondering, after losing out on yet another opportunity. One of her few remaining friends told her the truth: “You are what’s wrong.” Dawn heard the verdict with relief. The world wasn’t out to get her; she herself was the problem with the world. The brave friend continued: “You’re hostile and volatile. I think you need a spiritual awakening.” Beaten down by circumstances, Dawn was rendered open-minded. The friend went on, “I think you should come with me to church.”
“Church?” exclaimed Dawn.
“Church,” repeated her friend. “I’ll pick you up and take you tomorrow.”
“You really think church is the answer?”
“I think God is. Everyone else is scared of you.”
Dawn laughed—her first genuine laugh in a long, long time. She agreed to go to church. “I’ll think of it as theater.” It did seem like theater to her. And so she found herself going back, Sunday after Sunday. A little at a time, she found her ears opening to its positive message: “God is love.” When she queried guidance, “Doesn’t that seem gullible,” she heard, “God is love.”
Six months into her churchgoing, she landed a prestigious directing gig. Working with her actors, she found herself newly patient and even-tempered. “God is love,” the words of the sermon came to her. “Be loving,” she told herself, and loving she was. Her friend asked her how the work was going, and she heard herself answer, “Smoothly.” And it was true. Dawn loved working her new way. One Sunday at church, she heard the word “grace.”
“I’ve been given grace,” she recognized. “An unmerited gift from God.” She told this to her friend.
“Aha!” her friend exclaimed. “You’ve had a spiritual awakening.”
“Yes,” Dawn replied, “I think I have.”
In Dawn’s case, an undiagnosed spiritual hunger led her to a spiritual awakening. Her church-as-theater taught her to love. She already loved theater, and it wasn’t a long stride to loving church. In her temperamental days, Dawn suffered from a God-sized hole. She would have been the last one to recognize this fact. It took her loving friend to make the correct diagnosis—and it took guidance to reinforce it. She had a conversion experience of the educational variety, and soon began to talk of God.
Not so with Tony, a professional baseball player. He was accustomed to beating himself up for failures to perform. One teammate noticed his radical mood swings and dared to comment on them. “You drive yourself crazy, my man,” he remarked. Tony didn’t deny it. His teammate went on. “You should try to do what I do. I pray each time I go up to bat. Then I figure it’s God’s business, not mine, if I get a hit. It kind of takes the pressure off, if you know what I mean.”
Tony could only imagine taking the pressure off. His every turn at bat was torture. But pray? Tony considered himself an atheist. Prayer ran counter to his whole philosophy of life. And yet, he definitely needed a way to take the pressure off. So he tried an experiment. “Okay, God,” he wrote. “You take over.” To his surprise, he heard a response: “I will.” He felt an immediate lightening of his mood. The lightness held. “Okay, God,” he prayed, “here we go.”
Relaxed, he stepped to the plate. Relaxed, he swung at the pitch. Wham! A solid base hit. “Thanks, God,” he prayed, although he didn’t believe in God. For the rest of the game and the rest of the season, Tony prayed as he went up to bat. When he didn’t get a hit, he blamed God, not himself, although he officially didn’t believe in the God he was blaming.
“I tried your trick,” he one day announced to his teammate, who only smiled knowingly. To himself, he confessed, “Maybe there is something to this God stuff.” But then he thought, “No. It’s childish.” And so Tony remained an atheist—an atheist who prayed.
Dawn and Tony both experienced a spiritual awakening, although only one would admit it. Both achieved a shift in their behavior due to conscious contact with a higher power. Guidance came to them both. For Dawn, it resulted in a change in her behavior. For Tony, it was a shift in his attitude and his game. Guidance can come to each of us, if we are open-minded.
“Dear God, please guard and guide me,” runs the simplest prayer requesting guidance. Used daily, we find we are guarded and guided. Our guidance may tell us precisely what to do about X. Often simple and direct, our guidance may be so simple and so direct that it hadn’t occurred to us. Tony’s prayer—“Okay, God, you take it”—was the simple working out of a complicated problem. His reliance on a higher power relieved him of self-centered responsibility. His mind relaxed, and his muscles relaxed. His game improved. Dawn found her reliance on a god of love caused her to pause before indulging in a temper tantrum. For them both, a reliance on a power greater than themselves gave them strength. With strength came faith, even if, like Tony, they denied it.
Agnes—Aggie to her friends—relied upon guidance in all matters except in romance. An exceptionally pretty woman, she had no trouble attracting partners, but a great deal of trouble keeping them. “What’s wrong with me?” Aggie wondered to herself and to her friends. They were as baffled as she was. Her friendships were steady and long-lived. In that realm, she was gifted, while in her romantic involvements, she was not. Time after time, she was dumped. “I must be poison,” Aggie remarked to her friends.
“Have you tried asking for guidance about it?” her closest girlfriend asked her.
“Why, no,” Aggie answered. Her current relationship was teetering, but she had not thought to pray.
“So try it,” her friend urged. “What have you got to lose?”
“Nothing,” Aggie remarked. “Right now, I’m just waiting to be dumped, and I really, really like him.”
“So pray on it. Ask to see your part.”
“My part?” Aggie was insulted.
“You’re the common denominator.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll pray for you. That is—along with you.”
“Thanks. That would be great.” And so, Aggie embarked on praying for guidance on things romantic. She felt a shiver when she asked, “What is my part?”
The answer came back swiftly. “You’re controlling. A relationship is not a close-order drill.” Aggie was stunned. She didn’t think of herself as controlling. “If anything, I smother my beaus with affection. Wait a minute—is that controlling? Well, yes, I guess it is. How can I be less controlling?” Aggie asked guidance.
“A little faith. Try trusting your partner,” the answer came back.
Aggie thought of all the times she had demanded to know her partner’s whereabouts, what they were up to when they weren’t with her. Wasn’t that controlling? Admitting that it was, Aggie took her first step toward recovery. As she worked on trusting her partner, he proved himself trustworthy. As she continued to pray for guidance, her humor returned. She became lighthearted. Now, she couldn’t be rid of her partner if she tried. Guidance had shown her her part.
Guidance comes in multiple forms: as the written word, as the “funny feeling,” as the sudden inspiration or inkling. As we are open to being led, we find guidance speaks to us in varied forms. Most of us find we have a favorite form of guidance. But guidance may speak to us in many forms, until we get the message. Guidance may speak to us through other people.
Cara, a freelance writer, enjoyed a good rapport with her editor who appreciated her writing and seldom asked for many changes. All this changed when her editor left the magazine and Cara was assigned to a new editor. It went poorly from the gate. Her new editor didn’t “get” Cara as her old one had. Instead, she found many flaws in Cara’s work. She asked for changes that boiled down to a complete rewrite. Her “take” on any given topic differed from Cara’s. Try as she could, Cara couldn’t please her. Her writing became difficult, then impossible. Cara was at her wit’s end, miserable and blocked. That’s when she had lunch with her girlfriend Susan.
“You’re not yourself,” Susan said midway through their meal.
“No, I’m not,” Cara confessed.
“What’s going on?” Susan asked.
“My editor left.” Cara laid her cards on the table. “My new editor hates me. At least she hates my work. It used to be a joy to turn in articles. Now it’s torture.”
“You sound miserable,” Susan ventured.
“I am miserable. I used to think I was a good writer. Now I feel like a hack. I miss my old editor. She ‘got’ me.”
“So call her up. Maybe she misses you.”
“I can’t call her.”
“Why not?” Susan pressed.
“It’s chasing her.”
“Maybe she wants to be chased,” Susan pushed.
“She’d be horrified if I told her my tale of woe.”
“Call her. Have a little faith in her goodwill.”
Cara went home from her lunch thinking that Susan was pushy. But when she tried to write, she found herself thinking, what if Susan was right? She spent a miserable afternoon debating—to call or not to call. And then, at a quarter to five, she took the plunge, phoning her old editor at her new job.
“Cara!” her editor exclaimed. “I miss you!”
“I miss you, too, more than you know,” Cara told her. And then, as though she had taken truth serum, she launched into her saga. “She hates my writing,” Cara concluded.
“Oh Cara, poor Cara,” her editor sympathized. “You’re a fine writer. You made my job easy. I could use you over here, let me tell you.”
“You could use me?”
“I couldn’t take you with me, but now enough time has passed. Yes. If you don’t feel bound to the magazine.”
“I don’t feel bound. It’s not the same magazine without you.”
“Then come in tomorrow, and we’ll get you some assignments.”
“Really? Just like that?”
“Just like that. I can’t tell you how often I’ve wished for you in these months.”
Cara hung up the phone feeling elated. “Just like that,” she phoned Susan to report that her luncheon’s guidance had indeed guided her well. “I wrote for guidance,” she confessed, “and I was told to trust your guidance.”
“I felt guided over lunch,” Susan responded. “I was worried I was being pushy, but my guidance told me not to drop the rock—to just keep pushing you.”
“And I’m so glad you did,” Cara told her, glad to have been guided through Susan’s guidance. “Thank you.”
“Thank you for listening. You sound like yourself again.”
“I feel like myself. And you weren’t pushy, just direct.”
If Cara’s guidance came to her through Susan and the spoken word, her guidance for others traveled through the written word. Her editor was right to value her. Although the magazines she worked for were glossy and secular, her articles often went a step beyond, displaying a soulful insight. Readers appreciated her unique voice. Letters to the editor singled her out for praise. Reunited with “her” editor, Cara was happy once again in her work. Her writing—always good—became even better. She appreciated her editor, and her editor appreciated her.
Cara was busy, but not too busy for lunch with Susan. After all, her guidance had proved invaluable. “God speaks to us through people,” Cara captioned an article on seeking wisdom through peers. Grounded in her own experience with Susan, the article was her most popular.
“Thank God someone has finally said it,” so noted a letter to the editor. “Our peers have wisdom if we’re wise enough to listen.”
“If we’re wise enough to listen” is a very important “if.”
Guidance is a shortcut to God—or at least to higher forces. We write out our concerns, and guidance responds. Is it God speaking back to us? Perhaps. God or not, it is a source of great wisdom. And so we take pen in hand and ask for guidance. We listen for what we “hear,” and heed it.
Do not worry about pestering guidance. It stands ready to guide at any and all turns. And so now I ask, “Have I said enough?” And guidance replies, “Yes, enough. Your readers are open-minded. They will try guidance, and find, like you, a resource of great strength and resiliency. Let guidance become for them an experience, not merely an explanation. Ask them to seek guidance and record what they find. They will do so. Guidance stands ready to help, and help is always what’s called for.”
So, write “help me,” and then listen. Guidance is here.