Looking For My Christmas Angel

Sara is the best shopping buddy a girl could wish for. She is delightful to be around, has an eye for a bargain and she’s always candid, offering the necessary, “Hmm, I think that might be a little snug, Jill.” so I know to throw whatever it is in the “reject” pile and look for a larger size.

Sara and I were having fun, unaffected by Christmas’ long lines and shortened tempers. We were enjoying our bargain hunting.

And then I lost my change purse.

I am a Methodist by confirmation, but I grew up with Catholic guilt because my best friends are both Catholic. Which can be a burden without confession because I have no means to clear my protestant conscience. However, the great thing about being Catholic by osmosis is that I choose the “rules and regs.” I am all about the saints and turn to St. Anthony frequently because I am always losing things. Today was no exception.

My purse held $43.00, my driver’s license, my debit card, my health insurance card. My life! We panicked, searching my car, revisiting the last store, lying on the tarmac to check every square inch of the parking lot and even diving into a few trashcans! Reluctantly, I called my husband. He didn’t rant about my disaster, but rather offered to call the bank to stop any transactions. Our hearts were heavy en route to the police station, to report my major loss.

Then my phone rang. My husband’s voice was elated. He said the doorbell jingled minutes before. A lady stood there and asked if I lived at this address. When he confirmed, she handed him my purse and said, “Merry Christmas” and left. He was so flabbergasted, he never asked for her name. I cried. Sara cried. The relief was enormous and the gratitude even greater. Imagine, if my purse had been picked up by anyone else other than my very own Saint Nick? I would be neck-deep in the manure business.