The Mailbox Story

Every so often, there comes a day I have a story for you all. It could be silly or embarrassing - I mean, what else would be entertaining enough to make a blog post - and sometimes there’s a meaning. These days are pretty few and far between, but I still enjoy a fun story, and I think you do, too.

Today is one of those days.

Today’s story begins on one hot, sticky day that I had to go into the office for a video shoot. I got ready in the usual business casual, got stuck in traffic for an hour and a half, and showed up, out of breath, and just a wee bit feisty.

I mean, who likes sitting in traffic for an hour and a half?!

Anyway, I show up to find out that the video shoot is actually taking place in the OR of the hospital, and I have to change out of my clothes into scrubs. But I didn’t bring sneakers (obviously), so I wore my flats with scrubs. Like a real winner.

Afterward, I drive home (no traffic, thank goodness), and I head to my parents’ house to pick up the baby from my grandmother. My parents live in the sticks, so most of the back roads are on the smaller side and don’t even have lines painted on them. No big deal, I must drive this route twice a week, at least.

I’m just a few minutes away, driving along one of the more rural roads, and a large truck appears, heading toward me. I pull over to the far side of the road, to give him more room and WHAP! I take out mailbox with my side mirror.

I barely had time to register what had happened, but noticed that my mirror was dangling out of the casing. Excellent.

I’ve destroyed someone’s mailbox and damaged my car in one foul swoop.

Naturally, I feel like a trash can.

I continue to pick up the baby, tell my grandmother what happened and write a note to drop off at the person’s house. I mean, I might be a trash can, but I’m not a hit-and-run trash can. There’s a difference.

I head on back, sick to my stomach and drive up to the house, fully expecting someone to rip my full head off. I knock on the door, nobody shows, so I head back down the drive to tuck the note into the detached mailbox, hoping they will just let me replace it and move on.

I hear someone calling and an older lady is walking down the drive. I run over and explain what happened and give her the mailbox and the note, apologizing profusely. She tells me that this is actually her son’s house (and mailbox), and that she will let him know.

Bleh.

Well, I didn’t get shot, and that did cross my mind at some point. I mean, it is a rural area, and some people don’t take kindly to people knocking off their mailboxes. But still, I don’t feel great. I go home and Elliot is able to reattach my mirror, and my car is good as new! That makes me feel a little better. At least I don’t have to take my car to the body shop - that stuff is pricey.

Later on that evening, I’m about to get ready for bed, and I check my phone to see a missed call. Ugh, it’s probably the people calling to ask me to replace their mailbox.

I answer, and a woman is on the line. She tells me that it was, in fact, her mailbox that was hit. She thanked and praised me for coming up to let them know and being honest about it, and shared that her husband had already reattached the mailbox and there was no problem on their end. She also shared that she used it as an example of honesty for her own daughters, encouraging them to own up to their mistakes.

I was floored.

I wrecked someone’s mailbox, and somehow, they called me to thank me. No harm was done, and everything was okay. I really don’t know how I ended up with that ending, but I do know that God is good, He’s got a plan, and the plan is good.

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths.” Proverbs 3:5-6

“It is the Lord who goes before you. He will be with you; he will not leave you or forsake you. Do not fear or be dismayed.” Deuteronomy 31:8