Where’s My Passport?
Yesterday, as I was walking out the back door for work, a voice inside my head said, “Where’s your passport?” And, NO. I don’t usually hear voices.
A little back story: Last year when I was in Italy I bought a fabulous, leather backpack. It’s a beautiful thing. ;) Needless to say, we haven’t been parted, my beautiful backpack and I, except for really swanky occasions that require a more suitable accessory. Sunday morning, I emptied my backpack on the “Island of Cilantro,” (another story) and put my necessities in a sweet, little, black purse to match my suit. Hey…it was the Sabbath. I wanted to glorify God.
Anyway, I digressed so much I forgot what I was talking about. Oh yeah…my passport. So there I was heading out the door carrying the little, black purse, when I hear the voice. I stopped, put down my purse, and stuck my hand in my backpack in search of my passport/itinerary holder thing. I remember pulling off my leather glove to feel inside my backpack again. The contents were strewn all over the island and I didn’t see the passport holder. I picked up my backpack and shook it. Only change fell out.
I said to myself, “I must have left it at work.” Whew! And I went to work.
I got to my office and immediately started looking for my passport. Everybody who walked in to my office was notified I needed them to pray for me to find my passport. Chris LaMoreaux says to me, “Well, good thing you took a copy of it.” I cringed. A copy? No. I had no copy. I went outside and pulled my car apart. Perhaps it slid down the seats or got kicked under one. No. Not there.
Then I started thinking it fell out of my backpack and was covered in snow. Hello. I leave for Greece early Thursday morning and all that snow will not be melted in time. When I couldn’t stand it any longer, I left for home to search again. It had to be somewhere. I just keep asking the Lord to show me where it was.
I get home, tear off my coat and gloves, and start looking. I check every room. Sofa cushions. The fridge. Mail stacks. Suitcases. Okay…now I was starting to sweat. You know that thing you do in your head where you track backwards and try to remember the last place you saw it. I was convinced it was in my backpack. So, to humor myself, I walked back in to the kitchen and stuck my hand in the bottom of my backpack. Viola! Right there on the bottom…just where I’d left it.
I called everybody. I FOUND IT! I FOUND IT! I’m still convinced it wasn’t there in the morning. So here’s a “thank you” to God for sending that clever angel who wasn’t afraid to put his hand in a woman’s purse and place my passport on the bottom. I’m a happy girl! And I’m going to Greece, baby.
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