Morning sun pouring in through my windshield On the daily route to the office Here comes interruption from my phone:
Go to the bank for a new card.
The beads gleam in my fingers as if to remind me That I was locked in conversation And it would be rude to distract myself In a bid to get to a place I don't know
So, guilty, I told my Lord:
Let's carry on, and when I hail the Holy Queen Let the bank be before me.
And trusting in His yes, I guessed my way forward, Turning left Turning right Then left Then left Then right Not knowing where my whims would lead
All the while, my fingers stayed steady forward: The scourging, the crowning, the carrying, Punctuated by "Let me turn this way."
Then despair. I parked on a shoulder, The prayer now over but with no bank in sight. I sorrowfully showed my remorse:
Sorry for forcing Your Hand, let me turn to Google
But now I was late for work, so reroute the plan: Chart my course back to my original journey.
But
As soon as I make a left turn There it was: the un-promised surprise, Object of my despair, and my trust newly repaired My little miracle for a Tuesday morning With the sun lighting up the bank's windows: God's Positioning System.