I'm changing my name

It happens. I'm not sure exactly why but it eventually happens to all of us.

My husband and I go to Wal-Mart about once a week for some groceries. When I go alone, I always check the row I parked in. I need to or when I come out and look over that sea of cars, I never remember where I left it in my rush to get to shopping.

Last week as we walked through the doors, I asked Curt if he had noted the row number. "Why do you need to know?" he asked. "I know where we parked."

"In case something happens to you. I don't want to be wandering for hours."

He rolled his eyes. "Row seven."

I let out my breath and focused on the tomatoes.

An hour later we left the store with a cart full of food. He veered toward row twelve.

"Wait! You said we were parked in seven. Why did you tell me that?"

He smiled much like he always does when he thinks something he did was humorous. "Made you feel better though, didn't it?"

He was right. I needed to know a number--any number--to make me feel better, to make me less worried. to make me feel like I had everything under control. And it didn't take all that much.

So where am I going with this story? That I'm old and can't remember where I parked? No, even though that might be true.

It hit me that I was putting my fears in a number, a fact.

Yesterday I heard a sermon about Phillip, the disciple, and how he was always counting the costs. He needed all the facts to make a decision, to make him feel safe with an answer or situation. He told Jesus it would be impossible to feed the five thousand.

I don't want to be a Phillip anymore. I want to believe in the miracles. Do you?