My name is...

  I have a confession. Actually it's not a confession. Just an observation about life as I experience it. I'm addicted to my phone. Not, I call people all the time. Not even, I always take every call. Actually, I take less than half of the phone calls which come my way (Sorry to anyone who gets my voicemail). It's really just the obsessive need to have access. There's an old military expression, "Hurry up and wait." And I think that's what I experience. I spend a lot of time being careful not to miss an urgent call that I'm not expecting. I get an almost debilitating anxiety when I'm not in physical contact with my phone. I may not be leaning on my urinal like "Mr. Totally Connected," but, and I am ashamed to admit this,  I've checked my phone in church, and (gulp) on dates ("He who is without sin..."). It's strange. When I think logically about the worst thing that could happen if I didn't have my phone, the worst thing I could think of would be an easy fix, and not likely to happen. But somehow, nothing consoles me.



  Earlier this summer, however, my phone vanished from. I went through the stages of grief, right out of the Psych 101 textbook.  Not my finest moment.
 Denial- "I must have left it at the church...OK...Maybe it's still in the car...well...Maybe the other car...possibly...My room?...



 Anger- "I can't believe I...How could I be so stupid...Why did it have to rain TODAY!!!...Somebody probably ran it over in the parking lot...



Bargining- Hoping that my cousin had taken it or knew who had I offered my cousin candy and money if she “found” my phone.

Depression- I, seriously, don't even want to talk about that part. Not my finest hour.

Acceptance- If it's lost, it's lost... I'll just buy a new one if that's what has to happen. A lot of people don't even have cell phones...worse things have happened to better people...

As I moved into acceptance. Wonder of wonders...

After making a trip to summer camp with the youth of our church, where it was dropped by whichever child took it. My beloved phone was found by a different member of our youth group who, "Thought it looked familiar," brought it home and showed it to his mom, who recognized the "My Sister" entry in Contacts. Deduced that she'd know whose it was. And it is now back in my grateful hands. My very, very grateful hands.

I should have a punchy takeaway from all this. And I think I kind of do. But, I'm going to let someone else deliver it: