Wednesday (two weeks ago), I could not find my handicapped parking permit.
Israeli handicapped parking permits are small plastic cards (like credit cards). Since the card is easy to lose, I always keep it in the same pocket of my purse.
There have been times, I admit, that I put the card down on our Shabbat Table, "just for a minute." However, since I am a bit paranoid about losing it (replacing it would be a nightmare), I am pretty diligent about putting it back in my purse.
This time, the card was not in my purse and not on the Shabbat table.
After searching for several minutes, I stopped to think. When was the last time I saw it?
I knew I had it the night before, in my husband's car. We used it, when we parked for shiur (our Torah study class).
I had a visual memory of taking the card off the dashboard when we got home, but I had no visual image of putting it in my purse or placing it (temporarily, of course) on the Shabbat Table.
I must have lost the permit, somewhere between the car and my home. I had a strong sense that I lost the card while getting out of the car.
I called my husband, and asked him to check the car.
He thoroughly checked the car, checking under the passenger seat and in between the seat and the door. He did not find it.
If the permit was not in the car, it had to be in the house.
The girls and I searched all over the house. We could not find it anywhere.
I dreaded the thought of applying for a new permit. (Imagine your DMV bureaucracy, then multiply it tenfold!)
I could not shake the feeling that the card must be in Moshe's car.
Later that night, Moshe and I drove to the fundraiser, where I was scheduled to speak. When we got in Moshe's car, I reached below the seat, feeling around that area, hoping to find my permit.
Moshe assured me that he had searched with due dilligence.
"I know," I answered, certain that he had, but hopeful that he missed something, since I could not figure out where else it could be.
After a few seconds, I felt something with my right hand.
With a flourish, I pulled out the parking permit.
"How did you find it?" Moshe asked, clearly astonished.
"Did you look for it?" I asked him.
"You know I did," he responded, somewhat insulted that I was questioning him.
"Did you ask God for help?" I asked him.
"No," he responded, looking at me curiously.
I smiled at my husband, as I replied, "I did."
(with special thanks to EK, who taught me that it is ok to ask God for everything, even the little things)
Please daven (or send happy, healing thoughts) for RivkA bat Teirtzel.
With love and optimism,
Moscow (Part VI - The Flight)
8 hours ago