The right shoes.
A hat and sunglasses.
Ready for a walk. On a beautiful day, around the little pond near our home, where people fish and jog and where ducks and geese have all the fun.
I tune my phone to a podcast, adjust the volume, tuck my driver’s license, Blue Cross card (taking no chances) and phone into my new and fancy not-a-fanny-pack and head out through the garage.
It’s a glorious day and I’m feelin’ pretty fine about the world, all things considered. Yes, yesterday I learned I’d made an expensive mistake (ugh). And, no, I have not figured out how to help all those in crisis or turn the country around.
But on this sun-shiny day, the breeze is delicious while I walk and listen and none of that is bad.
As I got home, I took out the phone to pause the broadcast and headed straight to my purse, so as to be the responsible adult I usually am not and put the two ID cards where they belong.
No Blue Cross Card.
Not in the new and fancy not-a-fanny-pack, not accidently left in my purse, not on the floor, or with the phone or stuck to the driver’s license.
Not in the kitchen or front room. Not in the garage.
No Blue Cross Card.
Oh, good golly, Miss Molly…
Okay, don’t panic. Just retrace your steps, keep your eyes open, and you’ll find it somewhere along the way – like on the steps over the culvert, or where you stopped to retie your shoe. It will be there.
I chose the opposite way around the pond. I kept alert, on the hunt. I looked around and under the pines. I examined the slim, tall weeds at the water’s edge. I walked up the sidewalk and down the steps over the culvert.
I prayed as I walked and as I looked… that I would hold fast to this lesson learned and that I would be granted grace in this smallest of ways.
At the corner where the magic of the pond turns into the real world of streets and neighborhoods, the magic disappeared and what is my reality took hold…
I’m not my neighbor who prayed she would find the garage sale cash box, and she did.
I’m not Charlie Bucket. I won’t find ten shillings stuck in the gutter for that last and precious Golden Ticket-filled candy bar.
I’m not the girl who prays for healing and brings him home, healthy and whole.
And I’m not that girl because I’m a horrible Christian…because I’m not my neighbor or Charlie Bucket or the wife of the one who was healed… and I never will be.
I’m not that girl because there is something wrong with my faith and my prayers turn into lessons learned – not blessings.
And I do my best to shake it all off because I know He is a Good Father. I know He doesn’t work like that.
But why? What would be so wrong about the miraculous appearance of one measly Blue Cross card? WHAT INDEED WOULD IT HURT???
I approached the house again, and, with one last breath of hope, pictured myself in a dramatic movie ending: She opens the mailbox and the long lost, priceless, heirloom locket (or insurance card) has been placed by the moody, but handsome and wealthy stranger (or next-door neighbor lady).
As I took the last steps of my fruitless search, I made a plan to fix it – call the insurance company, let Tim know what had happened, and make a promise to the world to “do better,” whatever that looks like.
And there it was. On the driveway, face up, just waiting for me. All blue and white with its little cross and little shield.
Just waiting for me.
It wasn’t there when I began my search. No, it wasn’t.
God, with infinite wisdom and a dash of humor, put it there just for me, in His time, in His way. Yes, He did.
My lovelies, it was an answer to prayer.
It was, indeed, a miracle.
And nobody can tell me any different.
Great is Thy faithfulness.