I was walking up Park Avenue South towards my gym in my usual preoccupied morning fog when a voice startled me: "Edward? You write for Guideposts!"
I turned to see a well-dressed middle-aged guy coming out of a bank lobby. People don’t usually recognize me for the job I have, especially in New York, where anonymity is the norm. It took me a second to react. Then I stuck out my hand. "Yes, I’m Edward Grinnan."
"Right!" the man said. "I couldn’t remember your last name. But I know your picture from the magazine. I enjoy your column and love the stories every month."
I thanked him and asked him what he did for a living. He was the director of a medical center. "So you must see Guideposts in your waiting rooms," I said.
"I do, but my mother has given me a subscription for years. We had Guideposts in our house when I was growing up. I read it from time to time. I liked the sports stories.
"But now that Mom’s retired and living down in Florida, getting my Guideposts every month keeps me feeling connected to her. I read it cover to cover. I try to guess what story will be Mom’s favorite and then I ask her."
I’m always fascinated by how people came to know Guideposts, and so many of you have told me that it was a family member who introduced you to our true stories of hope and inspiration. Sometimes you discovered us in a waiting room or your church library. Maybe you Googled us.
Recently, thanks to our military outreach, readers come to us from the armed services. More often than not, you say you found us at just the right moment, when you needed a boost to your faith.
So I have a question. When did you first discover Guideposts either in print or online? I invite you to post below. If your response is the most interesting or unusual, I’ll send you an autographed copy of my book The Promise of Hope: How True Stories of Hope and Inspiration Saved My Life and How They Can Transform Yours.
Then you’ll know how I found Guideposts. It was at just the right time.
Training a golden retriever on an underground electric fence offers larger lessons on life.