Satan and My Car Keys

Satan and My Car Keys

From Chicken Soup for the Latter-day Saint Soul

Satan and My Car Keys

And the God of peace shall bruise Satan under your feet shortly. The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you. Amen.

Rom. 16:20

It never ceases to amaze me how clever Satan is. How he will seize any and every opportunity, no matter how small or insignificant, to force his way into our lives—to keep us from living and sharing the gospel.

Such was the case almost every Sunday morning with me and Satan.

Missing church shoes. And socks. And belts.

Church clothes that needed washing. Or ironing. Or mending. Or replacing.

Church materials I was so sure were ready at hand. And weren’t.

Car keys that were never where they were supposed to be.

And a husband who always left early for one meeting or another, leaving me without adult help to prepare myself, four kids, and, more often than not, a lesson.

Sunday mornings were a nightmare filled with me scrambling and screaming. As a result, the kids feared both me and Sundays, and the Spirit flew out the window.

I had to do something. I had to make some changes.

I started gathering and preparing church clothes the night before.

I started preparing my lessons a week in advance.

I started putting my car keys in the exact same location every time I came into the house.

Problems solved. Peaceful Sunday mornings. Happy kids. Rich Sunday Spirit. For many weeks running.

Then a shoe disappeared again. I panicked. But the kids found it in the toy box before I exploded.

My lesson materials were nowhere to be found. Oh, I had already put them in the car. Disaster averted.

The car keys were not in their usual place. The kids were not going to wait for that scene. They walked to church. It was too far for me to walk with all my church materials.

Having successfully made it through every other disaster that Sunday morning without losing my cool, or the Spirit, I was determined to find my keys with the same calm resolve.

It was then that the Spirit whispered to me, “Family room window.”

“Family room window?” I questioned. And then argued, “Why on earth would my car keys be in the family room window?” I ignored the prompting and began my usual routine search.

Ignition? No.

Purse? No.

Coat pocket? No.

Dress pocket? No.

My calm was slipping.

The Spirit whispered a second time, “Family room window.”

Again, I ignored the prompting, knowing better.

Kitchen? No.

Bedroom? No.

Bathroom? No.

Closet? No.

Office? No.

Rage was creeping in.

The Spirit whispered a third time, “Family room window.”

Exasperated, I tromped to the family room window, and lo and behold, there lay my keys.

How they got there, I do not know. Nor did I care. I left for church with the Spirit still intact.

I learned a very important lesson that morning: that the Spirit is as interested in me keeping the Spirit on Sunday mornings as I am.

And I have relied on its help every day since.

Much to Satan’s chagrin.

Peg Fugal

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