One Jeep, Two Jeep

cropped-img_3836.jpgIt’s the fourth Monday of the month already—my time to blog something humorous so that we can spend time laughing at, well, mostly me. And it’s okay, because I’ve learned to laugh at myself, too. Here’s another doozy…

On the Saturday before Memorial Day, I came out of the grocery store and walked to my blue Jeep Patriot. Because I only had two bags, I decided to put them on the floor of the front passenger seat. I clicked my key fob, pulled the door open, and pushed the seat all the way back. That’s when I noticed a strange metal contraption on the seat. My husband is a chemist, and since he’s always bringing home metal panels, I shrugged, lifted the bags to the jeep, and once again stopped. Beside the  metal thingamabobber was a sandwich bag containing dog bones.

“Now what’s he doing?” I said aloud. Maybe he decided to bring some treats home for our Boxer, but he had never done that before.

Then I glanced over at the driver’s side and saw a book—a book that wasn’t mine.

“Oh no.” I straightened and looked to my right. There sat my jeep, a few parkingIMG_4062 (1) spaces away.

I was in the wrong blue Jeep Patriot.

Feeling like an idiot, I scanned the parking lot. When no one appeared to have noticed my strange behavior, I slammed the door and high-tailed it over to my jeep. Once inside, I took stalk of my belongings. Shew. I hadn’t left anything behind in the wrong jeep. Then I remembered that I had pushed the front passenger seat all the way back. Should I run back over to the other jeep and push the seat forward? But what if the owner came out and saw me?

As I debated my course of action, an older, bearded gentleman emerged from the store and walked to the jeep.

I felt funny, like I’d invaded his privacy. Maybe I should tell him what I’d done. He might think my faux pas was funny. Then again, he might not.

I hadn’t done anything wrong, so I decided to leave it at that and drove away. He’d never know. And as for the seat, he’d probably blame his advanced years for the fact that he couldn’t remember moving the it back.

Three days later, I went to the drug store and exited in a huff. They had sent a text telling me that my medication for my inner ear disorder was ready for pickup, but when I got to the counter, they informed me that only one of the two was done.

“Can you wait while we refill the other medication?” The pharmacist asked.

“I have a dentist appointment in twenty minutes,” I told her. “I’ll have to stop by later.”

I had a busy day ahead of me and no time to go back at the drug store. So I stomped out into the parking lot, clicked my key fob to unlock the jeep, and opened the driver’s-side door.


I was about to sit down when I saw the envelope on the seat. I rolled my eyes. Just great. On top of the drug store irritation, I must have forgotten to mail the mortgage. I picked up the envelope, hoping I could get it to the post office and still make my dental appointment on time. That’s when I read the address.

“Who is this?” I again said aloud. I looked at the return address. I didn’t recognize that name, either.

“Oh no, it couldn’t be…” I popped out of the jeep and looked behind me. At my jeep. A few spaces away.

I was in the exact same wrong jeep.

“Oh my gosh. Not again.” Once again, I slammed the door and scurried to my Patriot, glancing around me and thankful that no one had seen me make a fool of myself a second time. I slid into the front seat and stared at the other jeep. The elderly owner certainly was a trusting soul, leaving his jeep unlocked. Anyone could pull open a door and get inside.


As I  put my key into the ignition, the automatic doors opened and out came the same little old man. He shuffled to his jeep and, just before he opened the door, noticed me gawking at him. I looked away, started my jeep, and sped away.

As I think back on this experience, I still find it hard to believe it. I mean, what are the chances of getting into the same wrong jeep twice? Pretty minuscule, and yet it happened.

Well, I’m off to town. Come to think of it, I saw that jeep in the shopping center parking lot not too long ago.

I think I’ll take the truck.



Hi, It’s Me

cropped-img_3836.jpgPrior to the introduction of Caller ID in 1991, we had to wait for callers to identify themselves before we knew with whom we were speaking. Most of us, however, can recall a time or two when the caller did not give their name and instead launched right into a conversation. I can think of many times when this happened to me, and one of three things occurred.

One: I’d know the voice after a few words.

Two: I wouldn’t  recognize the voice and continued talking, hoping I’d eventually figure out who was on the line. Sometimes, however, this approach backfired. For example–when I was a teenager, I once spoke to a woman on the phone for ten minutes, racking my brain the entire time trying to figure out who she was. I didn’t want to ask her, because it was obvious that she thought I’d know her by her voice. I finally realized that she was my mother’s friend and thought I was my mother. By that time, I was too embarrassed to tell her that I wasn’t my mother, so I spoke to her for another twenty minutes pretending to be my mom. After that episode, I learned to use the third approach.

Three: I’d cut the caller off mid-sentence and ask, “Who the heck is this?”

Family members, however, all fell into category one. When I called my parents, sibling, or close relatives, or they called me, we always started our conversations with a simple, “Hi, hi it's meit’s me.”  That’s it. Three small words, but I immediately knew who was speaking, and they knew me. Because we loved each other and had a close relationship, the sounds of our voices were all we needed to identify each other.

Sometimes, especially when I’m struggling to hear God’s voice and know which path he’s asking  me to follow, I wish heaven had Caller ID.  Instead of spending hours and hours praying, reading my Bible, and seeking him, “God” would flash, and I’d know he was calling me to go in a certain direction. Piece of cake.

But is that really what I want? If God had Caller ID, I wonder if he would be no more than a mere acquaintance to me. And I’d miss out on the most amazing relationship I’ll beach-1868772__340ever have. To be honest, I’d rather spend those hours and hours with my Father, immersing myself in his word, being still before him, and listening instead of always asking. My prayer is that, when I seek him with all my heart and spend time daily in his presence, I’ll know him anywhere. And all I’ll need to recognize his voice are three words:

Hi, it’s Me.

My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me.  I give them eternal life, and they will never perish, and no one will snatch them out of my hand. 

John 10:27-28 (ESV)