A Little Pink Phone

Yesterday I received a cell phone advertisement in the mail, displaying a little pink blackberry. I had not seen a phone this pretty before and instantly, my heart beat faster. What could it entail to exchange my plain silver job for something far more attractive?
Advertisement in hand, I hurried into our local dealership. A young lady with a pleasant expression sat behind a desk and I made my way to her, still clutching my paper. "I’d like this phone," I said setting the ad down in front of her.
For the next five minutes questions assaulted me. "What is your present number? What type of phone do you have? Oh, this account isn’t in your name. It’s in your husband’s name. He must cancel it before I can transfer it to your name or give you a different account."
I hung my head. Same old explanation. "My husband passed away. He cannot cancel this account. My name is on the account as well. Doesn’t that automatically make it mine?”
“No. He must cancel it.”
“I can’t see that being possible.”
Finally, after several phone calls, a pile of instructions I had to write down so I wouldn’t forget, she informed me I could purchase the pretty pink phone, then left to get one. Several minutes later, she returns wearing a downcast expression. “I’m sorry madam, we just sold our last one. You’ll have to wait five days until our next shipment."
Leaning back in my chair, I considered my options. I could smile, thank her for her help, then drive to Edmonton. A pleasant thought except Edmonton is two hours away and if anything went wrong with the phone, I would have to return it to the dealership I bought it from to get it replaced or repaired. Not a good option if it went catawampus during a blizzard. I sat up straight in my chair, ran my hand across my perspiring brow, then wrote down my phone number and handed it to her. “Would you phone me when your shipment arrives? I will come back.”
All the way home I fumed at the 'shop locally' promotions hanging in business windows. That would be a lot easier to do if such a thing were possible. A suggestion of guilt crept in, and tightened my chest. Even if nobody else saw my ill-tempered attitude, God did. And I wasn’t being very charitable. Romans 5:3 came to mind. And not only so, but we glory in tribulations, also, knowing that tribulation worketh patience. I forced my thick throat into action and swallowed. "Forgive me Father. I totally messed up an opportunity for You to work Your will in my life."
At home, I went to work. Half of me remained sad because I had allowed my emotions to rule my heart. The other half rejoiced because my spirit had been sensitive enough to hear that still small voice.
The phone rang. Without thinking I answered it.
“Hello, Mrs. Matchett.”
I recognized the voice of the girl in the communications store. “We just received our new shipment and we have a phone for you.”
I lowered my red face. If I had of voiced my thoughts— no, I wouldn’t go there. But God had showed me, once again, His goodness. Regardless of my bad attitude.