It was approximately ten minutes before midnight when Elizabeth Reynolds pushed the button for the elevator on the eighth floor of the highrise building she lived in. She was running late for her graveyard shift as an alarm agent, having overslept and woken up only minutes before.
Elizabeth ran from the elevator into the dark parking lot to where her car was without fear of anything other than the wrath of the person at work she was about to relieve. The midnight streets of Memphis usually held no trepidation for her. Just as she reached to open her car door, she saw the note.
A folded up piece of notebook paper was on her windshield. She removed it cautiously and opened it as soon as she got into her car. She was so astounded she read it twice. Now fear pricked the back of her neck.
My name is Peter Smith, I live in apartment 603. I have been trying to get the nerve to approach you in the lobby and ask you to breakfast. I see you every morning when you come in the building and at night when you leave. My phone number is 786-9245.
Elizabeth stared at the note. She recalled noticing a man in the lobby eying her several times when she came through in the mornings. She had ignored him. Was this from him? Now her own eyes warily searched the parking lot. Was he watching her?
She showed the note to Tony, her friend and coworker as soon as she she got to work. He said maybe she should call the guy.
“It all seems harmless enough, maybe he's just the shy sort.”
“But I don't even know him. He could be the Memphis strangler for all I know.”
“At least think about it. It can't hurt to talk to him. Besides, you need to socialize more. All you ever do is work and go home.”
Elizabeth thought about it for days. The thing that kept coming to mind was the talk she had with God recently about how lonely she was. Her husband left her four years ago for someone else, causing her to quietly withdraw from others. Her life consisted of work and church on Sundays.
Now she thought she might be ready to try again. But seriously! This was absurd. Who leaves notes on a woman's car? He must be a nut.
Only a few weeks before a prayer had begun to come involuntarily from her soul. It was so surprising to her she told no one about it. Her spirit seemed to be praying for something she had no control over.
God, please send someone to love me!
All the men she knew from work and church were either spoken for or not worth the trouble. She longed for someone who shared her values and principles. Someone God chosen.
Could this be an answer? Elizabeth prayed for God to give her some indication of what she should do, if anything, about the note. Then it occurred to her to ask other people in the building what they thought of this Peter Smith.
She asked the manager of her apartment building. She asked the people who hung out in the lobby everyday. She asked the maintenance man. They all gave her the same answer. He was a fine, Christian man. Christian. Just like she was, and he worked the same hours as she did.
Elizabeth's hands shook as she picked up the phone and dialed the number. Peter answered on the second ring, and she blurted out the first words that came to her.
“Hi, this is the woman who owns the car you left a note on. My name is Elizabeth.”
That was the start of several weeks of phone conversations, which led to breakfast one morning, which led to going to church together. Elizabeth found Peter's knowledge of the bible fascinating, and they found each other fascinating.
Out of their love for Christ and similar likes and interests grew a very special bond that Elizabeth had never experienced before. One of genuine respect and admiration for each other. As time went by she fell in love with Peter, and he with her.
Almost one year after Elizabeth found the note on her car she and Peter were happily united in marriage. Ten years, one daughter, a dog and a cat later, they still are.
And it all started with a note and a prayer!
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