My father-in-law was a man with a lot of funny sayings. He grew up on a farm in the country in the state of Missouri and I'm not sure how many of his sayings were cultural vernacular privy to that part of the country or just plain silliness that he and his brothers came up with. He and the two older brothers closest to him in age even had their own language and when they'd get going sometimes their father would say, "Willikers, boys! Get next to yourselves!" This evening his saying of "Pick up the marbles, skinny. You win!" came to mind. It's one of those throw-your-hands-up-in-the-air type of expressions when you're overwhelmed or frustrated...a sign of giving up or giving in.
Well, I'm having one of those moments. I had a Post-It note I'd been scribbling on the past week or so, random things I wanted to blog about when I felt well enough to do so and had time enough to do it. All day I've been posting random bits and pieces but tonite I was going to sit down and write something of...substance. Something with a little bit of thought behind it. Yeah, right. I started sorting thru the pieces of paper scattered on the window ledge here that my monitor rests on and do you think I can find that Post-It?
So...I'll tell you instead a little more about the recovery of my truck. Anonymous, if you're here you'll probably say it was just another one of those 'coincidences' that God has nothing to do with. And that's your right, your privilege, but if you've come back I'd say this is kind of a funny blog for you to return to. I'm a great believer in coincidence but I'm even a greater believer in a God who has His hand in more of my life than even I'm aware of most of the time. You see, Portland is a pretty big city...something like over 1,000,000 people in the greater metro area. Most people who live here have at least one vehicle. Or two, like Dear Hubby and I have. I blogged about how it was my daughter-in-law of all people who spotted my little red truck parked on a side street near a 7/11 store she and my son had happened to stop at. But I was in a hurry to write that nite and I didn't tell you "The rest of the story" as Paul Harvey would say. You see, Anonymous, at the exact same moment my son was walking over to my truck to see if it indeed was mine a co-worker of my husband's was traveling down the main boulevard this side street intersects with. And Joel happened to spot it as well. And just as Dear Hubby and I were leaving the house to meet the police at the store our cell phone rang and Joel told Dear Hubby, "I think I've found your wife's stolen truck!" In fact, he and my son had never met and he thought our son, who was standing by the truck as he was talking to us on the phone, was the thief. Dear Hubby told him, "That's our son..." hoping Joel wouldn't jump him. When the police finished clearing the truck off the "hot list" and had us look it over for damage there was nothing wrong with it. No broken locks. No broken windows. No torn-up ignition. The pennies in my ash tray were still there. So was my hankie, my pens, my pack of gum. And most importantly -- to me, anyway, because it was a gift from a treasured friend -- my little traveling Guardian Angel was still clipped to my visor. Because, when I worked with her at one of Portland's schools and had to commute several miles, she wanted Someone to watch over me and keep me safe.
Now, here is what I call a coincidence. The 7/11 store my truck was parked next to is also the same store one of Dear Hubby's cousins had his truck stolen from 7 years ago.