Chicken Soup for the Soul: A Book of Miracles
BY: Heidi H. Grosch
And then she finds it, she calls her friends and neighbors together and says, "Rejoice with me, I have found my lost coin."
~Luke 15:9
It shimmered in the distance, a beacon for weary travelers. Kathy and I were grateful to have made it out of the urban jungle unscathed and drove slowly towards the oasis beckoning to us in the haze... Dunkin' Donuts.
Minutes later we were covered in white powder, thankful we had both opted to wear light colors that day. With heads spinning, high on sugar, we ordered coffees to go. They had a special on the supersized plastic mug, free refills for a year, and after a bit of maneuvering it was forever fixed to my dashboard. Head filled with thoughts of that next donut stop, wondering if the coffee would taste better because it was free, I steered my silver Ford Festiva back onto the interstate, heading west towards Indiana, to our friend's house, our final destination of the day.
The next two hours went quickly, until full bladders and an empty gas tank made it necessary to stop once again. "I'll get this one," I said, eager to show off my newly minted credit card. Reaching around into the back seat I grabbed for my purse... but it wasn't there. I knew my light brown leather satchel could easily slip under a seat, so I got out and rummaged around. I wasn't worried, yet. We hadn't stopped anywhere, so no one could have taken it. And I'd paid for my plastic coffee mug so I knew I'd had it then.
But after unearthing candy wrappers, old newspapers and half a New York City subway map, I remembered. With all the fuss getting my new coffee mug centered on the dashboard, I had left my purse on the roof of the car, in the Dunkin' Donuts parking lot, in New York City's backyard.
I don't know why I was surprised when it wasn't still there.
Then I panicked, sure that my credit cards had already been maxed out. But something told me to call the Dunkin' Donuts just in case.
"Oh thank goodness," the clerk said when I called. "We were going through your wallet, trying to find a way to get in touch with you. Someone found your purse lying in the parking lot and turned it in."
Refusing any kind of reward, the shop owner express-mailed it to our friend's home. It arrived the next morning, with only postage money missing.
A few years later, on a snowy Minnesota winter night in the middle of downtown Minneapolis, my car's low-gas light was blinking red and I knew I had to stop or risk walking home. I'd switched purses by this time, to something smaller with a strap so I could always keep it with me. I filled up, made sure my purse was securely around my neck and drove home.
But when I got out of the car my purse wasn't there. Déjà vu. A single leather strap wove itself in and out of my dark green scarf, like a vine around a tree, but there was no purse attached to the other end.
I searched repeatedly under, around and between the seats until my fingers were frozen and the knees of my jeans soaked through from kneeling in the slush. Had I lost my purse again?
Knowing my good fortune might not repeat itself, I called the credit card company and my bank to freeze my accounts.
But I needn't have bothered. The next morning I got a call. "Is this Heidi Grosch? We found your purse lying in a snow bank."
It seems I had closed my car door with my purse hanging outside. It had dragged along through the snow until the strap broke. Again, everything was there and the finder refused to accept any payment.
I will always be grateful to those Good Samaritans for the reminder that miracles don't always have to be bigger than life. They can be the little things that hit you unexpectedly and have a happy ending.
I'm trying to recognize the small miracles of daily life, and... to keep track of my purse.
~Luke 15:9
It shimmered in the distance, a beacon for weary travelers. Kathy and I were grateful to have made it out of the urban jungle unscathed and drove slowly towards the oasis beckoning to us in the haze... Dunkin' Donuts.
Minutes later we were covered in white powder, thankful we had both opted to wear light colors that day. With heads spinning, high on sugar, we ordered coffees to go. They had a special on the supersized plastic mug, free refills for a year, and after a bit of maneuvering it was forever fixed to my dashboard. Head filled with thoughts of that next donut stop, wondering if the coffee would taste better because it was free, I steered my silver Ford Festiva back onto the interstate, heading west towards Indiana, to our friend's house, our final destination of the day.
The next two hours went quickly, until full bladders and an empty gas tank made it necessary to stop once again. "I'll get this one," I said, eager to show off my newly minted credit card. Reaching around into the back seat I grabbed for my purse... but it wasn't there. I knew my light brown leather satchel could easily slip under a seat, so I got out and rummaged around. I wasn't worried, yet. We hadn't stopped anywhere, so no one could have taken it. And I'd paid for my plastic coffee mug so I knew I'd had it then.
But after unearthing candy wrappers, old newspapers and half a New York City subway map, I remembered. With all the fuss getting my new coffee mug centered on the dashboard, I had left my purse on the roof of the car, in the Dunkin' Donuts parking lot, in New York City's backyard.
I don't know why I was surprised when it wasn't still there.
Then I panicked, sure that my credit cards had already been maxed out. But something told me to call the Dunkin' Donuts just in case.
"Oh thank goodness," the clerk said when I called. "We were going through your wallet, trying to find a way to get in touch with you. Someone found your purse lying in the parking lot and turned it in."
Refusing any kind of reward, the shop owner express-mailed it to our friend's home. It arrived the next morning, with only postage money missing.
A few years later, on a snowy Minnesota winter night in the middle of downtown Minneapolis, my car's low-gas light was blinking red and I knew I had to stop or risk walking home. I'd switched purses by this time, to something smaller with a strap so I could always keep it with me. I filled up, made sure my purse was securely around my neck and drove home.
But when I got out of the car my purse wasn't there. Déjà vu. A single leather strap wove itself in and out of my dark green scarf, like a vine around a tree, but there was no purse attached to the other end.
I searched repeatedly under, around and between the seats until my fingers were frozen and the knees of my jeans soaked through from kneeling in the slush. Had I lost my purse again?
Knowing my good fortune might not repeat itself, I called the credit card company and my bank to freeze my accounts.
But I needn't have bothered. The next morning I got a call. "Is this Heidi Grosch? We found your purse lying in a snow bank."
It seems I had closed my car door with my purse hanging outside. It had dragged along through the snow until the strap broke. Again, everything was there and the finder refused to accept any payment.
I will always be grateful to those Good Samaritans for the reminder that miracles don't always have to be bigger than life. They can be the little things that hit you unexpectedly and have a happy ending.
I'm trying to recognize the small miracles of daily life, and... to keep track of my purse.
http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2011/02/The-Parable-of-the-Purse.aspx?source=NEWSLETTER&nlsource=49&ppc=&utm_campaign=DIBSoup&utm_source=NL&utm_medium=newsletter&utm_term=mail.ru
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