Miracle Zone Ahead

Did you know that miracles are on the increase?

Pshaw?

Debaters may need to polish their “yah, but!” arguments.  Apparently there’s going to be some significant soul honey splashed around the planet over the next few years.

I hit my miracle zone on January 1st; one day before the 107th birthday of my departed father.

I was thinking about 107 years as I grabbed a grocery cart outside the store.  Suddenly I felt young and vital, but I still didn’t want to chase some purse thief.  I wound the long strap of my small purse through the handle bar of the cart.  If someone wanted the purse, they’d have to take the cart, too.

I take great care to hang on to my cart with one hand.

I laid the shopping bags on the bottom of the cart alongside the purse and remembered the time Dad and I chuckled over my being half his age when he turned 80.

‘It’d be cool if I could still be half his age.’ I thought and headed for fresh produce.

The tomatoes were not their usual quality.  I ended up having to pick through them carefully.  I noticed a man watching from across the bin of lemons.  At first I thought he was waiting for the tomato bin.  However, strong eye contact suggested there was more to his stare than being queued.  He made me uncomfortable.

I hurriedly picked four acceptable tomatoes, put them in a little bag, and placed them in my cart as I pushed off to finish shopping.

Over the next 45 minutes, I slid past the same staring man another four times.  I assumed the woman he followed was his wife.   The encounters felt creepy.

I stopped to chat with a friend, Anne, who works in the health products department.  We had a quick update about our respective Christmas and New Years and off I went to the till.

I removed the produce from my cart and reached for my purse.

It was gone.

After seconds of complete panic, disbelief and horror, I said to the cashier, “My purse has gone missing.  I want these groceries, but I must find my purse!”

I needed Anne.  I rolled my empty cart back to her Department.  “Anne!” I gasped.  “Someone stole my purse!  I had it secured here on the handle of this cart and it’s gone!  My gawd, it has everything in it – money, car keys, I.D….!”

Anne responded calmly and began to ask questions.  I could barely concentrate enough to answer her questions.  Fear short-circuiting my brain, I said, “Where’s a phone, Anne?  I’m calling the RCMP!”

Anne pointed to a phone with no phone book.  Somehow, after years of not using it, I keyed the number as though I used it yesterday.

The questions began again – this time from the RCMP office.  What time did this happen?  What was in the purse?  How much cash? The questions went on and on.  I envisioned the perpetrator being miles down the road, getting into a boat and speeding off with my life in one tiny satchel.

Something forced me to be pleasant.  I answered the myriad of questions even though they seemed ridiculously inappropriate.  How would I know if the purse was stolen 10 versus 15 minutes ago when I didn’t know it was stolen?

Suddenly Anne came around an aisle and up to the phone.  She was pushing a cart!  It was empty except for my purse – secured around the handle bar – and two shopping bags laying in the bottom!

“Anne! That’s my purse!”  She nodded.  Her knowing smile and big, shiny eyes presented…well, I hoped it was compassion.  Apparently my goof was not original.

I thanked the RCMP who wanted to know what had happened.  “I don’t know just yet.  I have to hang up to find that out myself.”

“This happens so often,” she said.  “People switch carts without realizing it.  You obviously picked this cart, then right at the beginning of shopping, you grabbed someone else’s  – one that was also empty.”

“Omigod…that means my purse has been sitting by the tomatoes for nearly an hour and no one touched it?!”

“Yep!” said Anne with a big smile.

“You’re an absolute angel!” I grabbed Anne, hugged her and planted a big kiss on her cheek.  All of my gratitude went into that hug.

I went back to the till thinking my groceries would have been put aside.  The cashier had  been steering traffic around my goods the whole time I was gone.  She smiled and calmly said, “Oh you found your purse.  Good.  Come on, you can come through now.  Tell me what happened.”

She listened as she rang up the items.  I said, “I can’t believe I did that.  But even more, I can’t believe no one touched it.”

“You’d be amazed at what happens around here.  We live on an incredible island in incredible times.”

That night, with a heart full of gratitude, I began bedtime preparations.  As I completed my day’s shutdown procedures I moved from my office, into the kitchen and finished in the bedroom.  Each clock, while I was in each of those three areas and during those minutes of activity, read a bright and clear 11:11.

Goodness