Redbox RX sent an email saying that the refills for my prescriptions were being shipped, but the truth was, I hadn’t requested them.  What’s worse, my check card would be charged any moment without my permission. I called them up to see what-was-what.

Let’s just say I wasn’t at my best, worrying about “too much month at the end of the money” as my father used to say, and not having enough to cover it. The person on the other end took me through a cold, efficient, explanation, “Yes, you did give us permission to send automatic refills, when you filled out the initial paperwork and signed up for our services.”  

Oh, that, I thought.  Maybe I should start reading the fine print.  

I had a couple of other questions about future shipments and whether or not she could refund today’s charges, and I was anxious to get some answers that would stop the calculator from running hot in my head. 

And maybe I interrupted her to ask them.  I’m not sure.  Funny how fuzzy memory can be when you’re (maybe) the one who’s messing up.

What I am sure of is that she interrupted me before I could finish asking them.  And she talked down to me with, “Yes, yes, I know you want that answer, but this is what I’m trying to tell you…” and she said it annoyed and not-at-all kindly.  

More like the way you’d talk to that pesky neighbor boy after he rides by on his bike and kicks your blooming peonies.  More like tightly controlled contempt. 

When I asked if there was someone else I could work with, as I was having trouble with her tone and manner, she said no, she was the only one working in her department. And then she began to explain all over again what she’d already said, as if she’d just noted my birthdate and thought, this lady might be looney. 

And while, admittedly, I wasn’t at my best–as I said earlier–I was totally sane and in complete control of my judgment about whatshe was doing wrong, and I told her, “You are defensive and rude and not any good at your job.” And I hung up on her.

I spent the next little while thinking it all over and remembering everything about her poor intentions and intonations along with her downright contempt.  I felt completely justified writing it all up on Trust Pilot.  And I thought that was the end of it.

Only I hadn’t finished todays’s post yet for my devotional blog about Where You Can Find Jesus.  I still had the introduction to write.  And getting back to it, I suddenly felt queasy and not at all right, whereas just moments before, I was altogether righteous.

What have I done to that poor, awful girl? I whispered inside my head.  I didn’t really want God to answer me, which is why I only whispered.  But he must’ve heard me, because the freshest, bracing breath of wind came over me, Wouldn’t you like to let this go and move on?

And I thought, Wow, I really would.  Righteous as I’d felt before, I was embarrassed now, because I knew what it would take for me to give up the contempt I felt so that love would return—I’d have to call her back and apologize for my tone and manner.

Oh Jesus, help me.

I imagined how wonderful I’d feel to own what I did and ask forgiveness and hang up, but this time only after saying goodbye first. I dialed the number and waited.  After multiple recordings of “we’re experiencing a higher volume of calls” and elevator music, I was finally given an email address and phone number to call back during normal business hours. And I was disconnected.

I was a little let down.  I wanted that glorious feeling I’d imagined I’d have for eating it, but I emailed my apology instead, and I felt better. Then I took down my 1-star review on Trust Pilot, which was true but was also unkind.  I don’t think Jesus was anywhere in it, except that he helped me figure out how to delete it. 

Sometimes writing for my other blog makes me see more of myself than I want to see, which is that I always need more of Jesus.

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