Broken Faith


Sometimes it isn’t the big things that renew our faith,  it’s the little stuff. The stuff that we should take care of ourselves while the creator of the cosmos mends the holes in our Ozone.

Take for instance,  exhibit A: a broken key.

Friends of mine gave me the keys to their condo while they were traveling to an exotic island with pineapple drinks.
“Here, ” they placed the leather key chain in my hands, “Feed the cats,  water the plants,  check on the fish,  empty the litter box,  and eat whatever.”
It was a blessing, a mini vacation from staying at the Hippie Monastery on Wilson.
But then, my WTF moment happened.
The key to my weekend nirvana broke off in the door.

In their door lock.
Meaning, starving kitties.
Dead fish.

Shriveled plants.
Overflowing litter boxes.
And no direct TV.
I was doomed.
I looked at the key, and thought WWMD?
Or, what would MacGyver Do?
I jiggled the old lock and luckily, the brass mechanism spit out the broken half chewed up sunflower seeds.
That was miracle number one.
Thank you God!
But then my mind started racing on what to do next.
I scurried to the back entrance of their condo, hoping that one of the other keys on the overloaded key chain would open that door.
Not even close.
That’s when miracle number two happened.
Nosy Neighbors.
“Hi, I’m Rhonda and John’s friend.” I started explaining while waving the broken key. “ I’m here to feed their cats but, I’m having a bit of a lock malfunction.”
The neighbors looked at me and asked, “How on earth did you do that?” followed by, “The man in the garden unit should have a key. That is, if he is home.”
My heart raced.
I went to the ground apartment and gave the door a good knock.
The door cracked open.
Miracle three.
I heard the jingling of a large key chain approach the door.
“Hi,” I began my cockamamy story.
The man plopped the huge key chain my hand. “Take this to the locksmith. They should be able to make you a new one.”
And they could.
And did.
For $1.49.

And my world was saved.
And I was able to feed the cats.
Water the plants.

Check on the fish.
Empty the litter box.
Surf through the channels.
And breathe again.

And believe again.

This might not have been the parting of the Red Sea or the shrinking of a malignant lump but it was my miracle,  one that fixed my faith when I was ready to pitch it like gum wrappers in my pocket on washing day.

And it also reminded me of something much bigger.

God can open doors when our keys are  broken.




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