So, Sunday morning, I get all of my stuff together in the seat of the car, locked the car doors and am about to go into church when I see the Bradford Pear tree in front of me covered in blooms. I grab my camera, lean out around the door of the car and am taking pictures when I see movement out of the corner of my eye. It is my car door closing from the wind. I grabbing for it, grabbing, grabbing… *click*… it’s closed. Locked. Purse on the car seat. Keys and cell phone in the purse.
I just stood there and looked at it through the window for a while with my forehead against the glass. If I had telekinesis, I could have unlocked my doors with the concentration I had going on that Purse Behind Glass Exhibit in my car seat. My closest set of extra keys was a 45 minute drive away and in order to get those I would have to get in touch with somebody through a new phone system in which I didn’t know the number (it had changed the day before and was saved in my CELL PHONE LOCKED IN THE CAR) or through somebody’s cell phone that was turned off because we were having technical issues with phone calls over the weekend. Long story short, I’d have to call everybody and their sister to get the keys to me. *sigh*
Dear Lawd Above, please unlock my doors. Okay, not all of them, just this one. Pop the glass on my hatch and I can climb my big white girl self inside? Help me remember my key pad code? Pfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffttttttttttttttttttttthhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
God was not in a mood for miracles at 10:03 a.m. Central Standard Time yesterday, in case y’all didn’t know. Even though I was standing in His church parking lot. I walked inside and my priest says, “Looks who’s here!”
I said, “I’ve locked my keys in my car.”
“Oh, so you’ll be here a while!”
Lawd. Don’t you just love a priest with a sense of humor?
“Can I borrow somebody’s phone?” I then proceeded to make about 50 hopefully not long distance phone calls on the church office phone, getting a hold of exactly NOBODY until I finally resorted to calling my poor Uncle Cecil that lives next door to us. Uncle Cecil is a bad diabetic who is in varying stages of fluctuating health which is why I didn’t call him in the first place. He assured me that he was fine and would tell my peeps to bring the keys to me. This is what he did, instead, with a perfectly straight face.
“Hey, y’all gotta go get Cindy. She’s at the jailhouse.”
“Yeah, they locked her up. She called me and told me to tell y’all to come get her.”
Mama said her stomach hit the floor and the only thing she could think was, “Who has she HIT???”
That’s when he lost it, started laughing and told the truth. When I see him, I’m gonna hit him.
While I was waiting for them, I took these photos in the garth of the church…
What a day.