Stupid car, Stupid keys, Stupid me- Wonderful Savior

So. I thought I couldn't get any ditzier. I was pretty sure that my level of stupidity had reached an all-time high and was unable to grow any more.

I was wrong.

I locked my keys in my car. I actually consciously thought, "I will leave my keys here so that I don't forget them." Got out of my car. And locked it. Brilliant.

I'm supposed to be in class right now, but obviously I'm not. I'm stranded at home until my little brother comes to rescue me by breaking into my car. I refuse to call a locksmith. Why? Because I called one not a month ago. Yes, I did. Why? For the same reason. THE EXACT SAME REASON. In fact, the car is probably sitting in the same spot it was sitting last time I called the locksmith. Something in me revolts against paying $40 dollars (again!) for my own stupidity. So instead, Alex and I are going to perfect our skill of vandalism and car breaking and entering. It could come in handy someday when money is tight... (joking!)

But my coffee is brewed to perfection. I just had a heavenly bagel with cream cheese. (I love my cream cheese!) And my brother just called me to talk about feminism and feminists (which I am not.) All in all, it's been a good morning thus far.

When the sun came shining in through my windows this morning I was too busy to notice its light. I was dashing around, frantically trying to achieve straightness in my usually frizzy hair. What pants to wear? What did I do with my eyelash curler? Why on EARTH can't I find socks? These were my thoughts. Profound, no?

But the car keys (or lack there-of) forced me to stop. To slow down. To look outside. The sun is shining. The grass is green. It's beautiful. And then I remembered...

Two thousand years ago a man, ignored by the world and forgotten by his people carried a cross on his raw, beaten back up the road to a hill. And there, on that hill, his wrists were bashed to that cross's wooden beam with dull, thick nails. There, with blood and sweat dripping into his eyes he was hoisted above the crowd and left to draw agonizing breath after breath. For hours. The world went on. Men laughed, scorned, ignored, rejected, or hurried by that man on the tree. While the earth continued to spin, while trade was plied, sins committed, and life was lived by thousands, their Creator died. On a rough cross. Splinters digging into his back. His own Father's rejection. Complete and utter lonliness. Total physical pain. He suffered. And we ignored.

It's "Good Friday." Two thousand years ago our God died. For us.

What wondrous love is this...

"This is love, not that we loved God, but that He loved us, and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins." (I John 4:10)