The Mail We Discard

Greetings Dear Reader,

I am relating this tale as told to me by Michael Sharp, my closest friend and deepest confidant.  The puzzle dragon was also present but all she cares about is books.  She had no comment as she considers trusting the Father a given.  The names are fictitious to guard the anonymous.  The events reported are pure fact. 

It is my experience that we get about three million pieces of junk mail for every item we get that matters.  I have long held the practice of keeping a rubbish bin by the mail table so that I do not handle junk mail twice.  Today the events unfolded thusly: 

• At nine in the morning I informed by realtor that I could not make my monthly payment as I did not have the funds. 
• At five that evening I received a note assuring me that I would lose my home in five days if I did not pay. 
• At five ‘o two I reassured my daughter that even though I felt discouraged I refused to give up on my faith. 
• At five ’o seven my daughter prayed for the Father to show me how he would meet my needs so that I would not worry and so that I would sleep.
• At five fifteen my daughter left for her child care job and I checked the mail.

There were three pieces of mail:

1. The first item was a cardboard mailer from the local grocer promising me wonderful deals on excellent food, Cokes, and Easter Candy.  I could not buy food this week because I might not have a place to put it next week.
2. The second item was an offer from a lender offering me $20,000 in a signature loan if I would just confirm my employment.  (I do not think that “unemployed” would do the trick).
3. The third item was a plain white envelope with a window for my address, a return address in numbers and arcane symbols, and a metered mail postal payment reading $00.27.  I thought that they could at least let me know who they are if they were going to spend 27 cents to send me the letter.  Then again, I considered, since they had invested more than a quarter getting the letter to me I should at least open it.

I carefully opened the mail and was gravely disappointed.  It was almost as plain as the envelope.  The first third of the single tri-folded page was the date (February 16, 2018).  I received this on March 5^th and wondered where it had gone for two weeks.  The rest of the third of the page was blank save for my name, mailing address, and more arcane numbers.

The second third contained an invitation to log in and update my investment portfolio.  I laughed at God’s sense of humor at sending this to me and started to throw it away in the rubbish.  It was good enough that I had been reminded that my needs were not met by any portfolio but by a Father who loves me.

As I tossed the letter and envelope in the rubbish something happened that I NEVER ignore.  That small spot on the left center rear of my neck began to ping.  Not “one ping only” but pinging like a closing torpedo.  The kind of pinging that is all the alarms going off at once.  Some people, even some who do not believe in God refer to this as the “God Spot”.  Whatever it is I never ignore that ping, once or otherwise.  Listening to that ping has saved my life at least twice.

If only to stop the pinging I retrieved that letter and read the bottom third VERY carefully.  It was this line for which the torpedo was intended: “Please contact us immediately regarding the disposition of your OLD 401k account”.   I said to myself, “I do not have any old 401k accounts.  What could they mean?”

I dismissed it and thought to return the letter to the rubbish.  I heard the pinging ramping up at just the thought.  Instead I called the investment institution’s 800 number.  I spoke to a lovely southern lady named Carol. 

She took me through 3,721 security steps to verify I was the person to whom they had intended to send the letter.  I thought how glad I was that the letter had been so short as this process was so very long. 

I was very glad that I remembered what street I lived on when I was seven (Crest Hill).   I struggled but recalled that the first car registered in my name was my Grandfather’s 1965 Dodge Dart.  I was nervous for a moment when I had to verify that I have never had a license to be a beautician in Phoenix, a chiropractor in Bangor, or an insurance sales person in Opelika. 

Having passed all of the steps, Carol explained that an error had been made when transferring my 401k from one company to another and there was money in the old account but since I was not employed they needed to resolve the account.  She intoned sweetly that she had one more question for me.  She asked me how I would like to deal with the funds in the old account.  I nervously asked her how much it was, hoping it would be enough to cover my housing for the month.  It was more than that.  I began to weep.  I began to tell her without reservation that I had been praying for God to sustain me.  Carol began to cry as well.

I am sure that the Father got a good laugh out of my concern for March when he had already mailed me the answer in February.  I am certain that he got a kick out of me joking with my daughter, “I better check the mail in case someone sent me some money” (that happened this week and last week so I have learned my lesson about joking concerning it).

The gist is this: God does care for me.  He does know what he is doing.  He will reward my faith and the work I do to show that faith.  I thank Aramis for his platform to share this adventure in the journey.  I thank my friends and family who pray for me and wish me well.  I am humbled by the ones both anonymous and known who have given to help me.  Faith works.  God is good all the time.

Wishing you joy in the journey,

Guest writer Michael Sharp and…

Aramis Thorn

Mat 13:52 So Jesus said to them, "That is why every writer who has become a disciple of Christ’s rule of the universe is like a home owner. He liberally hands out new and old things from his great treasure store.”

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