"What is he saying?" I wondered aloud, as the man collecting the carts at Walmart waved to us and tried to get our attention. Then I saw a beige purse in his hand. My purse! I must have left it in the cart!
"Howard, why didn't you check the cart?" I exclaimed. To avoid lugging a heavy purse, I often place it in the baby-seat section of the buggy, then if I forget it, my husband will notice it before he puts the cart away.
I took the purse from the man, then on a closer look, I realized it wasn't my purse at all! The color and shape had fooled me. My purse was at my feet! I got the man's attention and told him I'd made a mistake, to which he replied, "Well, I'll just take it inside then." (My husband reminded me that I was the one who had emptied the cart. Touche'!)
Nothing makes me more panicky than to think I have lost or left my purse somewhere. Besides the fact that it contains important cards and Iphone, the feeling of being violated as someone is looking through my personal possessions and seeing the messy contents is almost as bad as losing my bag!
This morning as I went down to breakfast at our son's house, I wanted to check my phone, when I realized I had left my purse upstairs. Except that it wasn't upstairs! I retraced my steps, remembering that last night after church I had dug in the purse for an allergy pill. A search of the downstairs proved fruitless. Was it before or after church I had looked for the meds? I couldn't remember!
What if I had left it at church? Maybe I was carrying my grandson's diaper bag and unconsciously assumed it was my purse? I looked in the van we were in. Nothing. Our son works at the church, so I instructed him to call if he found it there. My heart pounding and a headache coming on, I went back upstairs to make the bed and get dressed. "God, help me find my purse," I prayed as I picked up a pillow off the floor. My purse! There it was beside the bed under the pillow! Thank you, Lord!
All that was small potatoes compared to a scenario a couple of days ago. Our granddaughters were home from school and the baby-sitter had left. Leaving Howard downstairs with them, I went upstairs and saw I had missed a call. Chatting with Jamie as I returned the call, I could see my granddaughter's red skirt as she passed the window on her bike.
"Where are the girls?" I asked their Pa-Pa as I went back downstairs. He said he didn't know, they were here a minute ago. "Well, I don't see them," I said as I looked through the house and called. He said Anne-Marie had been riding her bike, but I saw her bike on the porch. The more we looked for them, the more alarmed I became.
Finally, we scooped up the baby and got in the car to look around the neighborhood. They knew not to leave the yard, but what if? I was ready to call their father when I took one last look through the big house. There they were, in an alcove off their parents' room, quietly playing and looking at books. They hadn't heard me!
I couldn't help but think of the parable of the lost sheep in Luke 15. "What man of you, having a hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness and go after that which is lost, until he find it? And when he hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders, rejoicing," Luke 15:4-5.
"I say unto you, that likewise joy shall be in heaven over one sinner that repenteth, more than over ninety and nine just persons, which need no repentance," Luke 15:7.
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