I bought a new purse; it’s my urban purse. It’s a “hello Philadelphia” kind of bag, hobo style, worn across the body to keep the hands free. My new purse is turquoise. Leather. There are pockets sewn in every place you’d wish to find one; my new little travel toothbrush, emergency makeup, and pepper spray all have their OWN pockets. It’s an adult purse with adult places to go.
I used a coupon at JCPenny to get it. So it’s a Penny’s purse, not Coach like my summer designer companion (also hobo-style). But she beats Coach purse for organization potential. And for size. Coach purse is a New-Yorker, and although she’s cute and tiny she’s basically a skinny little rectangle with half a pocket. Coach purse forced me to downgrade from my fat pink wallet because when I tried to zip Coach purse shut, fat pink wallet stuck out the top. I had to trade it for an inferior wallet, a little zippered pouch with no room for checks or gift cards. It made me miss fat pink wallet.
Urban purse, bless her heart, is a chic yet down-to-earth female with plenty of space, and she says, “honey, just go get fat pink wallet. I can handle it.”
My new purse is perfect. I can conquer the world with this bag.
Except, my debit card never made it from skinny substitute wallet to fat pink wallet. I looked in every crevice of substitute wallet – no debit card. I looked all over the car. No debit card. I checked Coach purse’s half pocket. I started sweating.
No debit card. Stupid Brooke. A lost debit card is a pain while you’re packing up your life to move to a big city for four months.
Miguel at customer service was so nice, though. He cancelled the lost card and ordered another one. He told me to go to my nearest branch and get a temporary card, and then the new one would arrive in 5-7 business days.
So I got my new temporary card at the bank. Everything was under control.
And I used my new temporary card for two days before I lost it.
What am I learning here?
1. Sometimes you just lose things.
2. Hitting “return card” at the ATM is kind of essential.
3. The perfect chic, practical, no-nonsense purse isn’t a cure for my own scatterbrained stupidity.
On Saturday (incidentally, the day I lost the second debit card), I went to the state fair. Some people think the state fair is the best event of the year. Others think it is a stupid waste of money. I only go once in a decade, so my opinion doesn’t count.
It was a cool and sunny day, cloudless, energetic. Pronto pups, strollers, kids with faced painted like tigers everywhere. Live radio DJs, a ferris wheel, people holding funnel cakes and wearing paper headbands that said “I visited the ‘Oink’ Booth.”
We ate apple pie with ice cream. My boyfriend dragged me through the haunted mansion (near the end, I was dragging him… “Is it almost over? Alex, I’m done! Alex, I hate this! Alex, please walk faster!”) I felt stupid to pay $5.50 for a minuscule tray of cheese curds. I did it anyways.
And we visited the animals.
I petted a brown mustang named Jackson and smiled at a baby piglet. I watched the 4H kids show their bunny rabbits in the middle of a ring. I watched a cow get milked. All that was kind of fun, even for a city girl.
Then we entered Sheep World. Sheep as far as the eye could see, in pens, surrounded by hay. Stench. Gag.
Here are my observations about the sheep:
- They all looked the same.
- They just laid there and stunk.
- They were ugly.
(Jesus, forgive me for insulting your creation.) But seriously, what is so special about sheep? NOTHING. In illustrated children’s books they are fluffy white puffballs. Not at the state fair.
Staring into a pen with two of Mary’s little… actually, very big… lambs, I felt superior. I thought, “Sheep are stupid.”
Except, I suddenly remembered reading John 10 earlier this week. It’s about sheep. In John 10, in an extended metaphor, Jesus says that he is the good shepherd and the gate through which sheep can enter safely. Thieves try to enter the pasture and steal the sheep, but Jesus protects them. It sounds reassuring and sweet until you realize… Jesus is calling you and me sheep.
I’m offended. My IQ is most certainly higher than a sheep’s! I’m designed in God’s image! I don’t lay around all day in a pen! I bathe, and I smell like shampoo!
And then I look at fat pink wallet, at the slot where my debit card should be. And I remember my own scatterbrained stupidity. I remember that I paid $5.50 for cheese curds. I remember that I paid $4 to walk through a dark house with strobe lights and hide behind my brave boyfriend and try not to cry when masked monsters stuck out plastic swords.
I’m stupid sometimes, and when it comes to similarities with animals, maybe Lamb Chop and I have more in common than I realized. Thank goodness for Jesus, who sacrifices his life for his sheep (John 10:11). It’s more than I deserve.