Waiting For the Cop to Help

Sigh! I've done a lot of pondering on prayer and Providence, the mundane and the miraculous (likel the "fortuitous coincidence" of that note in the shoebox). It's not just abstract theologizin', but the most important question of my current life crisis. So, when I read this post, I began a comment, only once again to end up with an overlong essay that I have cut, set aside to work on, to maybe someday to show up as a webwork. Lucky y'all, eh?

It may not make as much sense out of the context of the rest of what I wrote, might not exactly seem much related to the post, but I thought I'd leave this story here just for entertainment purposes, or something:

Mom tells a story from back when she was still driving. Took a wrong turn in the confusing maze of downtown streets, and found herself going the wrong way on a one-way street, in heavy traffic. She couldn't go forward, couldn't back up, everybody was honking and yelling at the crazy old lady driver. Finally, a cop comes up, and he starts yelling at her. Mom eventually managed to say to the officer, Okay, I messed up. Now what do we do? And at that point, the cop got his $#!+ together and began directing traffic so she could get out of there.

I feel like that, wrong turns, trapped, no way out on my own, horns blaring. Except, the cop either doesn't show up, or he doesn't quit yelling. When all I want to know is, now what do we do? Hello, Lord?

BTW, there were shoes in that shoebox as well, right?

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