I had just finished a great day outing with one friend, Winnie, and was a long train ride away from a concert with a second friend, Stephanie. By all accounts, I should be happy. It was summer; a warm and sunny Saturday in July. But we had spent our time in cool, comfort indoors at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Winnie and I enjoyed a thought provoking exhibition of Heavenly Bodies, contemplating the impact and interpretation of Catholicism on haute couture. We stood time after time saluting the human imagination and creative expression of Versace, Valentino and Galliano. And perceived troubles drift away. I paused the thoughts that constantly consume me. Of late, I obsessed over the job environment: over several months, the worries and concerns at 140 West Street, had moved into my home. Even controlling my dreams.
And now, here I am, headed to Brooklyn’s Prospect Park. On the website, BRIC Arts Media promises a magical evening of Kronos Quartet and Trio Da Kali. The train car is crowded, no seats available to quietly pass the time buried in the pages of a novel. Yes it’s the weekend, but can’t the Transit Authority not run more trains? Why must there be work done on the line I need? Can’t these people not block the doors? It is not so crowded if everyone would move into the train car. And so it begins, everything is wrong with my external environment. Heavenly Bodies is but a distant memory. Earbuds anyone? Nobody wants to hear that noise. I should be headed home. Why don’t I just go home? And it soon seeps back to the job. Why must I go back there? Why didn’t I leave when I had the opportunity? Where is God for me? Where are you for me, O God? Hear my prayer O God. I begin to mouth the words of a simple prayer. Lord Jesus, have mercy on me a sinner! Lord Jesus, have mercy on me a sinner! My mantra, a soothing, placating variation on the Jesus prayer. Repeat, repeat, repeat. Lord Jesus, have mercy on me a sinner.
A young woman acknowledges me as she exits the train car, “Miss, your bag is open.” The knapsack’s latch must have snapped open. Panicked, “Thanks”. I quickly reached around and felt for the flap. Sure enough, my bag was wide open. My wallet sitting on top of a novel, was still there. I breathe more relaxed. I could have been the victim of a mugging. But I wasn’t.
Then it hit me … God had heard and answered my prayer. A stolen wallet would have been disastrous. My evening and the next few days would be consumed with calls to credit card companies. Shear panic as I monitor my accounts for unknown charges.
When I need it, God showed me mercy. But there was also grace. When I was questioning his fidelity and love for me, he had protected me. A smile formed as the realization of what I had averted set in. Thank you loving parent! The magical evening has already happened.
Shared by Annemarie Edwards