A HELPING HAND, BEYOND THE GRAVE, Years ago, my grandpa used to drive into town from our small rural community for various errands. The town was about ten miles from home, and back then, many country roads didn’t have streetlights. One evening, Grandpa stayed in town later than usual…
Years ago, my grandpa used to drive into town from our small rural community for various errands. The town was about ten miles from home, and back then, many country roads didn’t have streetlights. One evening, Grandpa stayed in town later than usual. By the time he was headed back, it was pitch dark, and the rain made the dirt roads slick and hard to navigate. He wasn’t sure if he was even on the right path, and he started to worry.
Just when things seemed bleak, a familiar voice called out to him from behind. It was Mr. Wilson, a local farmer whom Grandpa had once helped by lending him money when he needed it most—for his daughter’s wedding. Mr. Wilson, holding a flashlight, told Grandpa he would guide him home and insisted Grandpa just keep walking and not look back. Grandpa was relieved and followed Mr. Wilson’s light as they talked about everyday things—his daughter, the farm, and how much the rain had impacted the crops.
As they approached the edge of town, Mr. Wilson said he couldn’t go any further and had someplace else to be. Thanking him, Grandpa walked into town alone and was startled to see a group of neighbors gathered, discussing something. They told Grandpa the news: Mr. Wilson had passed away earlier that day. Grandpa was frozen in disbelief, realizing that the person guiding him home wasn’t of this world. Mr. Wilson had returned one last time to repay his debt by leading Grandpa safely home.
