A Christmas miracle

So this is what happened this week: I had a genuine Christmas miracle. I got up Monday morning and looked in the mirror and one of my necklaces was gone. I immediately got sick to my stomach. 

I have two, a gold one and a silver one. The gold is a cross in a heart. I really like it. The silver is just a heart. I like it. But the gold one, a guy gave it to me. The silver one belonged to my grandmother. Bottom line, grandmother outranks guy. And that's the one that was missing. 

 

I had a pang of panic, but after it passed, I thought I wouldn’t have any trouble finding it.

All I did on Sunday was go to a Christmas party. Other than that, I was in my house. I figured the necklace had broken during the night and was surprised it wasn't there. It wasn't on the floor, either. Anywhere. My apartment is fairly small, too.

 

I figured it must have come off somehow at my friend's house and figured I'd ask her, so I went about my normal routine. But panic – and nausea – kept growing. I mean, I was really, really sick to my stomach.

The only other thing I'd done was my hair, and I had rinsed it off in the tub. But considering I was watching the water the whole time, how could it have come off? And what if it had? Down the drain? I mean, really, I was physically ill about it. I thought I was going to throw up.

And I prayed about it, because I really wanted to find it. I figured it had to be at Vicki's, but was struck to check the tub. I popped up the drain thing and it came off easily. I didn't see anything but reached down and there it was, caught on some little drainer thing!

 

I pulled it out, figuring the chain had to have broken and the heart was still probably gone, but it wasn't. As in, the heart was still there and not only was the necklace not broken, the clasp was still clasping. I have absolutely no idea how it came off my head.

And at that point I was no longer sick to my stomach but practically sobbing in thanks and relief. Thank you, Jesus! 

 

I normally am not overly sentimental, but honestly, I really did go from feeling like I was going to toss my cookies to just crying in relief. My grandmother and her husband were divorced when my mom was maybe 5, and I never knew my grandfather at all. Indeed, it didn’t even occur to me that he existed until I was about 12 and learned of his death. But the little heart says “Ferndell” on the back of it. It’s a terrible name, but it’s the only thing I have with it on there.

 

So that was my miracle. I still can’t believe it.

And now, I am headed out to my little Christmas break. We were granted Friday off, too, so I figured I’d take advantage and go to Huangshan, or something like that. A friend is here temporarily and we’re going to explore this place.

It’s an hour and a half away, and it’s from a real airport. These photos are from a real airport, too, if you can believe that.

About two thirds of the way through the Bhutan trip, we flew back the route we’d spent about a total of 14 hours driving over several days. The flight itself took about 20 minutes and the plane sat that many, as well. It was only 90 miles.

The airport, Bumthang (seriously, it rhymes with Poon-tang), was smaller than a 7-11, and that included the control tower. It was unbelievable. The little lobby was the size of a living room, and the security check was a guy who just called us up to a table and went through our bags Our boarding cards were hand-written with no seat number.

We  could see the runway right out the window; it was closer than right field would be from home plate. And the “Welcome to” sign – on the runway – was written in the concrete.

My favorite was the “crash phone,” which was sitting by the sofa in the lobby