Panic Prayers

Last week after Dad’s funeral I stayed on with Mom for a few days following. On Monday I drove her minivan into Baudette to check email and pick up a few groceries. Hardly anyone who lives up there locks their vehicles or even takes the keys out of the ignition, so when I got out I debated. Should I? With my computer on the front seat? I don’t care how little crime there is. I reached in grabbed the key and locked up. Moments later I was back and dug into my bag only to see I’d somehow lost the key off the ring. Everything else was there – all the buttons including the panic (which I hit a few times), but no ignition key. I began searching. The floor, under the seat, dumped my purse, tramped back and forth to the store scouring the snow and ice. Went inside and asked if a car key had been turned in and the clerk looked so suspiciously at me and pointed to a pay phone that I said no problem, I’ll call my brother if I have to… and I don’t know why I felt compelled to add, my brother is the county sheriff, you know. Dallas Block…and she looked at me then like I was really crazy since I was obviously not local. I felt even more embarrassed.

I don’t know why on that day it seemed such a huge crisis. It was so cold. And the wind was blowing. And aren’t our emotions sometimes so close to the margins we haven’t room for anything extra? I sat for a while resting my forehead on the steering wheel cussing at myself and praying a stream of nonsense, though I’m sure God could knew what I was saying. I didn’t want to walk over to Dallas’ office. Further humiliation. (Oh. THAT’S his sister?) Getting out my cell, I called his home hoping Marijean, my sister-in-law, could put me in touch. I explained my problem and she instantly knew what was wrong.
I had the KEY all along, I just didn’t recognize it. What insane engineer decided to design an ignition key that looks something like a flash drive? I was so relieved I almost cried. I’m not going to figure out the moral of the story…but one thing’s sure, I’m never going to buy a Chrysler. Irrationally. As if I’d have the chance…