I’ve had some surprises in my life, but waking up to a stolen car on a snowy Denver morning was a new one for me!

Tuesday morning I woke up to a quiet snow, told myself it was a Starbuck’s morning if ever there was one, and walked outside to where my car is always parked.

And it wasn’t there.

Just an empty rectangle of wet pavement where it should have been. I drive a beautiful 2020 Kia Soul, black with a red racing stripe, because I’m cool like that. Seeing that space empty was a shock I’ve never felt before in my life. It wasn’t panic at first. It was disbelief. Your brain keeps insisting you’re mistaken, that maybe you parked somewhere else, that this can’t possibly be happening.

The next two days were filled with questions that don’t let you rest. Where is it? Who has it? What are they doing to it? Is it being destroyed? Will I ever see it again? Is it totaled? How am I supposed to get back and forth to work? And on top of all of that, I had Santa Claus appearances I had to make — not even in Denver, but up in the foothills of the mountains. Commitments that mattered. So I did what I always do: I figured it out, borrowed help from some lovely friends, showed up, and carried the weight quietly of being Santa without his sleigh while my mind kept circling back to that empty parking spot.

Then, late in the evening the day before yesterday, I got the call. They had found my car! It was at the impound lot, and I could come get it in the morning. Yesterday at eight o’clock, I walked down several long rows of cars that had clearly been through hell — wrecked, smashed, windows gone, interiors ripped apart. And there she was. My lovely little car, sitting there like a cold puppy in the middle of the pound. Waiting. I rescued her and brought her straight to a car wash, cleaned her inside and out, washed away the smell and feel of anyone else who had been driving her, and asked her forgiveness. As the car-wash slapped my window like a soggy Snuffleupagus, I said a prayer of thanks to God for bringing her back to me. Then, we jammed some Blues Traveler and drove home.

This morning, I woke up and walked to the front window of my house. I looked out, and there she sat — black, shining, pretty, and patient. Waiting as I type this for me to take her for a ride. 

Some relief is so deep it doesn’t need words. But today, I wanted to give it some.

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