I have noticed over the past hundred posts or so that my blog really has had almost no confessional element to it. So much so that I have decided to rethink the title of this space.
Anywho, there is one confession that I feel the urge to make. In part because it could be a reminder and a caution to someone else. Two, because in the rear view mirror, it is a bit humorous.
One of my professors at Geneva used to make references to a single file cabinet drawer in his office that would regularly “test his sanctification.” Wednesday morning I had my own small device that tested my sanctification. And I don’t think that I did too well.
Normally I do not let Abigail play with the keys to my car. It has an alarm system and she has activated it without my knowledge before. But Wednesday morning I for some reason allowed her to play with the keys, and true to form as I was attempting to leave discovered that she had activated my alarm system. No big deal, right? Except for the small detail of a newly dead battery in the key fob. And no batteries that size in the house. And this was the only day in this week that Kelly had left in her car. I was stranded at home, throwing my entire morning out of whack (and by default, the afternoon as well). Doors were slammed. Angry words (though never swearing) were hurled about. The status on my Facebook page was changed to “Ticked” with no other explanation (until a friend asked for more information, and several other friends had a laugh at my expense). I stewed. And then I calmed down. After about an hour, Kelly replied to my text message I sent informing her of my plight (she had been in a cellular dead zone that morning), and we got her home and me off to the office and to Radio Shack for a new battery.
The remote works now.
And I have been humbled.