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June 1, 2006

Timothy and I went to buy a computer last night. Drove all the way out to the Apple store in the mall, wandered around a bit trying to avoid sales people we didn’t trust, and called Marky for the inside scoop because neither of us have ever owned a Mac before. We settled on a purchase a little bigger than we’d intended and prayed over the display as Armando went to see if they had that one in stock. By the time our new MacBook Pro (fancy-smanshy) was on the counter in front of us we both felt peacefully about it (as peaceful as you can feel about spending that much money on anything).

My credit card limit could not have bought a printer at the Apple store, so I had the bank card that my mom and I share. Armando – apparently shooting for employee of the month – needed something with my signature on it, which of course was miles away in the car. Timothy sprinted.

It was like a bad after-school drama. The moment he left I looked down at the card (and I wish I could say it all happened in slow motion, but it really didn’t) with my maiden name on it. Hmm. An ID and a credit card with two different last names on them seems fishy to me, and I’m no where near as savvy as Armando. What do you do when you’ve missed a mid-week service and paid a toll, only to find all signs pointing to “scam artist?” You pray.

I paced between the counter and the hall whispering in tongues and giving the Pro – with its built-in video camera and its beautiful, probably 50-million DPI screen – right back to Jesus. I told Him I wasn’t worried, because if this is the computer we are meant to have I knew we would not leave the store without it.

That’s when Armando decided he wanted to go home. His shift ended an hour ago and, darn it, he was tired. I did not object, and the girl who stepped up to finish our transaction seemed more concerned about losing Armando his commission than the two different names on the cards. I paused for a second considering which last name to sign and we left with our new Mac.

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