By Dr. James L. Snyder
I am not what you would call a superstitious person. [Knock on wood.] I am a realist in a modified definition of that word and I usually take things as they come.
My past week, however, was an open commentary on “Murphy’s Law.” Offhand I am not quite sure who come up with this concept, but they must have had a week somewhat like my week this past week.
If I had it within me, I would establish “Snyder’s Law” which simply stated means, what can go right will go right. Then all would be right with the world. Well, except for those who are left-handed.
It all started Monday morning when I had an early morning meeting. I meant to set my alarm clock for 6 AM but for some reason I set it for 6 PM and overslept. Have you ever noticed when you are 15 minutes late in the morning the day ends up being 90 minutes late? Do not ask me how that happens. Ask Murphy.
In the mail, I got a notice from the bank that I was overdrawn and they were charging me an insufficient fund fee. Well, I was furious. After all, I know how to add and subtract and I know how to take care of my bank account. I was about ready to call them and give them a piece of my mind when I noticed, how it happened I will never know, I forgot to include two checks I had written last week. I hate when that happens. My whole checkbook is now screwed up. I think it might be easier for me just to close my account and start all over again.
It was Tuesday but I had to go across town and endure all that traffic. It is not my favorite place to drive, I will tell you right now. Just as I turned onto a street, my engine sputtered a little bit. Then, much to my chagrin, the engine stopped completely. I hate when that happens.
I turned the key several times and then, I do not know why I did it, but I glanced at the gas gauge and the arrow was pointing way beyond the E. My gas tank was about as empty as my bank account. It is bad to run out of gas, but the worst thing for me about running out of gas is calling the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage and asking her for help. I would walk 100 miles not to tell her I am out of gas.
She always comes and bails me out. However, for the next six months I am reminded and reminded and reminded to put gas in my tank.
Thursday also had its issues. My wife wanted me to go to the store and pick up something and for some reason, I cannot remember it now, I used her car. Maybe it was because I did not want to run out of gas!
I got to the store, paid for my purchase, came out and tried finding my truck. I walked up and down and my truck was nowhere in sight. The only thing I could think of at the time was that somebody had stolen my truck.
I thought about calling the police, and then I thought better and decided I would call my wife first. You know what it is like when your wife hears something secondhand. And so I called her.
“I can’t find my truck,” I said trying to keep my voice as calm as possible not to get her upset, “I think somebody stole it. Should I call the police?”
Silence on the phone. Then I heard her say in a very calm voice, “Whoever stole your truck parked it in our driveway.”
I then remembered I was driving her car.
I tried to chuckle within but I knew that this incident would hang in our house for months to come and I have Mr. Murphy to thank for that.
It was such a horrific week and I was so deep in trouble with my Better Half, I decided to take her out Friday night for a nice meal on the town. I took her to her favorite restaurant and we ordered our supper, then set back and kind of sighed the week away. Maybe all that could go wrong has gone wrong and the week was about to turn around.
We chatted; I tried to skew the conversation away from running out of gas and misplacing my truck. Then the waitress came with our meal. I was ready to settle down, enjoy a scrumptious meal and end the week on a happy note.
The waitress set my wife’s plate in front of her and she smiled. Then the waitress set my plate in front of me and I freaked out. For some reason the waitress got my order mixed up with somebody else’s order and right in the middle of my plate was a pile of broccoli.
The only hope I have is that it cannot get any worse than this. I think David, the psalmist, understood this when he wrote, “… weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning” (Psalm 30:5 KJV).
As bad as it gets, as a Christian I have some great things to look forward to in Jesus Christ.
