Yesterday afternoon, I was rushing out the door. I was running behind schedule and had an appointment at four o'clock on campus that I didn't want to be late to. I loaded my pockets with my phone, keys, and wallet, and hopped on my bike. As I started pedaling up the street, I realized I was wearing the jeans with shallow pockets. My belongings were having a hard time staying put, so I moved my keys to my jacket pocket and shoved my wallet down as deep as I could in my jeans. My jacket pockets aren't much deeper, so I was careful to adjust my items accordingly. I biked fast and hard, rushing against the clock. When I arrived at the student center, I spotted the bike rack across the street and biked there to lock up my bike. As I was crossing the road back to the Wilkinson Center, I checked my pockets. Phone: check. Keys: check. Wallet...
Panic set in. I looked at the clock on my phone. 3:57. If I stopped to look for my wallet, I would be late for my appointment. But what else could I do? My life was in the wallet. Debit card, credit card, student ID, drivers license, temple recommend, gift cards, medicine, social security card (yes, I know I shouldn't carry it with me; it ended up in there after I tried to change my name legally), and a decent amount of cash, along with my emergency money hidden in a pocket--all of this was lost. I ran back to my bike and checked the rack. Nothing. I retraced my path, keeping my eyes on the ground all the way back to my apartment. I turned around when I got home and immediately continued searching as I biked back to campus. When I arrived again at the bike rack, it was 4:20. I was upset. I was late for my meeting and still hadn't found my wallet. I decided to go to my appointment late and take care of things there.
As soon as I finished at 5:00, I resumed my search. I stopped by the lost and found on campus, but she hadn't seen a wallet. I biked home, carefully scanning the road, moving slowly and methodically. When I again reached my apartment with no sign of my wallet, I went in and changed into some warmer clothes and better shoes and set out again on foot this time. As I again trekked to the Wilk, I felt discouraged. The night before, Stephen and I sat down and discussed finances. We made a good plan on how to make our means last, and my wallet contents were near essential for that plan to work. We had prayed to our Heavenly Father, explaining our situation and telling him we had faith in His ability to aid us. We promised to Him to continue to pay our tithing faithfully and attend the temple weekly. We felt the calm assurance that he would provide for us, and that everything would be ok. (We're newlywed college students--being poor is almost synonymous for this time in our lives, and that was anticipated and planned for. I don't mean to complain.)
But here I was, a day later, doing all I could to make up for my mistake, and feeling depressed and angry at myself. I had been praying the moment I noticed my wallet was missing. Nothing was coming together. The weather was cold and wet, sprinkling on and off just enough to make me damp. I had now scanned the street almost 4 times and had no luck. I checked my phone for the time. 5:42. I had notifications for emails on my phone that I had been ignoring for a while that kept piling up. I shouldn't be looking at my phone; I should be looking at the ground! But I paused to check the emails for no other reason than divine nagging.
"Your BYU ID card is at the ID Center, 2310 WSC"
As I saw this in the subject line of one of the emails, my heart flipped. I kept reading. My wallet had been turned into the ID Center. I checked the time of the email. 4:05. Minuets after I realized it was lost, someone had found it and brought it to the center. The email then continued on to say the ID center would close at 6:00. I had about 15 minutes at that point, and ran the rest of the way to campus. I made it to the center at 5:55 and inquired about my wallet. The employee said a guy found it in a parking lot and returned it. I signed that I picked it up and breathed for the first time in two hours. I had rode my bike past three parking lots, but logically, it could only have been by the bike rack for someone to find it and return it within ten minutes of me knowing it was gone. I had checked the rack thoroughly several times at this point, including immediately after I noticed my loss. One day, in the eternities, I'll look back on that day and find out exactly what happened. Until then, I can only be grateful I live in an honest community.
By this point, the drama of the ordeal hit me, and I asked Stephen to pick me up from campus on his way home from work. at 6:10, he showed up at campus, and as I walked out to the car, a rainbow arched across the sky, curving over the Y on the mountain and ending right above our red Suzuki. I kid you not. I wouldn't include such a cliche detail if it wasn't real. I had texted Stephen during my search several times, so he knew of my plight and my relief. He kissed me and said "See, I told you it would work out and be ok." I scoffed but smiled. I admire Stephen's constant faith. I seem to be taught the same lesson over and over, but when it comes time for the test, I question God. Stephen's good at reminding me that His hand is stretched out still.
So morals of this story: God will continue to take care of me. Strangers can be kind and honest people, for which I owe my relief. Leave myself plenty of time to get to appointments so I don't have to rush. Don't bike a lot in the cold rain without a jacket (I now have a cold--sorry Mom, I know you taught me better than to leave home without a jacket). And most of all--don't put important items in shallow pockets.
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