As the taxi stopped, I handed the driver the money, grabbed my bags and stepped out of the car. I walked towards a coffee shop I frequent to meet up with my ride home, but as I walked, I realized that my hand felt strangely empty. I did not have my phone. I searched my pockets and my bags, but it was nowhere to be found. “What do I do Father?” I prayed. I walked to the coffeeshop to see if anyone I knew was there. No one. Then I remembered that I knew a Canadian family down the next street. Maybe I could use their phone? I knocked on their gate and waited. I knocked again. No one answered. I walked a bit farther down the street to see if my ride had arrived. It hadn’t. Then I recalled having met an American family on this street a few days earlier. “Maybe that gray gate is theirs,” I thought. I knocked, hopeful that someone would answer, and sure enough, a vaguely familiar face came to the gate. Within two minutes, I was talking on the phone with the taxi driver. He said that he was already across town, and that I needed to come tomorrow to get my phone. “I don’t live in this city,” I replied, “Can you bring it back to me now?” He replied, “It’s not my problem. You need to come tomorrow.” My heart sank, and then he said, “Okay, what address are you at?” Within twenty minutes, full of gratitude and adrenaline, I had my phone in my hand. I’m so thankful to be in God’s hands when certainty is lacking.

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