A couple of years ago, I was planning to visit friends for a long-anticipated weekend, but it was all I could do not to cancel. I'd had dizziness and nausea for several days and just didn't see how I could make the drive. Still, my daughter had just left for camp, and the back roads ahead of me looked like a welcome adventure, so I set off.

On the sun-dappled drive across dairy country in upstate New York, I began to crumple. The symptoms got worse, and I became really frightened. I'd been praying about this as I usually do when I'm not well, and right then and there, I prayed by seeking to understand more about God's care for me and for all His children. I wish I could say I stayed in that clear mental place, but other thoughts kept tumbling in: "What if I don't get better?" "Why this trouble now?" "Should I turn back?"

A few miles farther on, a gigantic billboard loomed up ahead. It was poking up from a meadow, and on it were just two words in huge black letters: "PLEASE GOD." I clutched the steering wheel and thought, "Yes! Please, God, help me!" But as I drove past the billboard, I looked closer. It didn't say, "PLEASE, GOD" but "PLEASE GOD." I smiled. What a difference the missing comma made.

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