I made this post a while ago, updated it once, however, , the, beautiful lady that I spoke of has again resurfaced. She is living safely in a senior’s home and taken care of by her daughter and I heard she is happy. In honor of her strength and desire to keep her identity in her golden years, I would like to repost this article again.
“God Can I have my Keys Please”
Monday, I hate Mondays, I think to myself as I play with my teabag, dipping it up and down in the steaming water, while walking back to my office. Another day at the office where I work as an Account Manager for an insurance agency. Too many years of insurance, too many negative things heard; too much witnessing the bad side of people. The office sometimes makes keeping my faith hard. The only redeeming feature of working there is the people I work with.
At least the sun is bright, which makes the small office prettier. Its warm rays casting a bright glow against its dull yellow walls, plain wood cabinets and oak desks, the office seems to grow livelier as the sun shines through the large glass windows across its front facade. Barbie turns the volume on the radio up loud, taking away any peace now. “Hotel California,” blares in the background. I love the eagles, but it is to early now to try to understand the meaning of the lyrics.
I glance over at Sandra who sits at her desk, her face pointed towards her computer as she works on a policy that has just arrivd. “The Company needs to inspect that house,” I say. “Yes I know,” Sandra smirks. The office is coo ecause the bright sun warms the front quickly making Barbie to hot and she turns the air conditioning on. I pull my sweater around me with my free hand. Approaching the door to my office, dying to get to the warmth of a heater I always keep on, I notice someone entering the business. An older lady, neatly dressed, but seeming in distress about something.
Just go into your office, Barbie can take care of her, I tell myself. As she enters the door, our eyes make contact and she gazes at me like a lost puppy. Oh no, she is staring at me now, she expects me to come over. Barbie sees the contact between the two of us, turns her swivel chair back towards her desk, and continues counting the morning bank deposit. “Do you have that Zee?” she asks. She does this to me all the time. “Yes,” I say and walk over to the chestnut counter placing my tea underneath it.
I smile pleasantly and ask, “How may I help you?”
“Can I have my keys? My daughter has taken my, car and she won’t bring it back to me,” she says to me. She appears sincere and hurting. She is starting to cry, and tears begin running down her face. My heart starts to ache. It is Monday; I need some help.
“Barbie come over here. She says, can I have my keys,” I repeat. It is too much for me to take this morning. Barbie, who is the motherly hen type, stands up. Her long brown hair catches against the back of her chair and she laughs. Barbie won’t cut her hair ever; she promised her mother before she died she would not. “Her daughter, took her car,” I say when she walks up. Sandra who is listening comes to the counter also.
“Where is your daughter, Hun,” Barbie asks. She loves to call people Hun.
“Can you help get my car back,” the old woman cries out sadly. Now all of us are in distress because of her tears. I should have called in sick, but I only work two days a week so I really don’t need that excuse anymore.
To shorten the story, we listened as she told us how she had things to do, and needed to get her car back. Of course, we all felt what a terrible daughter she had. How could she leave her poor mother stranded? Having witnessed worse events than this in our long careers, and none of us familiar with the very aged, we had no reason to doubt her story. Barber took her to the police department. All was going well, until she returned a couple of days later with the same story; of course then we all understood, she was not well, as she appeared.
I remembered being angry with the woman’s daughter at first; not having all the facts, I and the other two judged her and made the decision she was not a nice person, when in fact she was only protecting her mother and others on the road. If we had been successful in having her car returned to her, and she had been in an accident and hurt herself, or someone else, I would have felt terrible.
That is how my prayers seem some times. I continue to want my keys, I pray for the blessing of God in helping me reach my dreams, supply my needs, and just give me things. “God can you give me my keys, I am ready to drive now, I ask.” Sometimes I don’t get them right away, though. God knows, like the woman’s daughter, if he gives me the keys, we could hurt others or myself.
1st John 5:14-15 (KJV) says, “And this is the confidence that we have in him, that, if we ask any thing according to his will, he heareth us:15 And if we know that he hear us, whatsoever we ask, we know that we have the petitions that we desired of him.”
This woman will probably never drive again, but nothing about her showed lack. God does this for us while he keeps the keys from us, he takes care of us; just because things do not manifest right away it does not mean they are not going to happen. Hold on to the dream or vision he gave you, one day he will toss you the keys, and say “there you are my beloved.”