Mistaken Identity

I remember a commercial that someone posted on Facebook.
It was during the winter of never ending snow.
It was during the time when most of us had to scrape cars and shovel driveways.
It made me laugh just when I needed it most.

It showed someone digging out his car that was parked on the street.
The snow was piled high around him.
It was a huge tiresome job.
Finally, the job was finished and the man could easily pull away from the curb.

He got out his remote and pushed the button to open his car door.
The car in front of him, stilled covered with snow, beeped with the lights flashing.
He shoveled out the wrong car.
I remember watching that short commercial and audibly groaning.

We can all put ourselves in the place of that man.
The cars looked similar under all that snow.
The cars were the same color.
However, he shoveled out the wrong car; his remote would not open another door.

For years I have been telling the wrong story.
It was a story that I thought I was telling correctly.
It was a story that I remembered in detail.
But I was wrong.

When I bought my college ring, it was a gold rose.
I could choose whatever stone I wanted for the center of the rose.
I chose a pearl.
I loved my ring with the antique finish on the petals.

My college ring was unique.
The name of the school was nowhere to be seen.
It was elegant.
It was a conversation piece.

One day as I was driving home from classes, I looked at my hand on the steering wheel.
The ring was shining in the sunlight.
The center of the ring was empty.
The pearl must have fallen out.

I tried to think about when it might have happened.
I didn’t remember noticing that it was missing before that moment.
I tried to retrace my steps and remember if I hit my hand against something that day.
Nothing out of the ordinary happened that I could remember.

I called the ring company when I got home.
Your timing is perfect because we have a representative on campus all this week.
Leave your ring with him and he will send it back for repairs.
I knew I would miss my ring as I looked at my empty hand, but I wanted it to be repaired.

I did as I was instructed and left my ring with the representative on campus the next day.
We will send it to your home in four to six weeks, he said in a monotone voice.
That seemed like a long time to replace a missing pearl.
I left the ring and knew I would call at some point to check on the repair.

Finally the day came.
The ring was sent back to me in the mail, wrapped and packaged just so.
I tore off the wrapping and opened the leather box.
It was not my ring.

It was a gold rose.
It had a pearl in the center.
However all the antique finish on the petals was gone.
It was too shiny to be my ring.

I called the company.
I explained my situation from the beginning, recounting all I was told to do.
Of course, that’s your ring. Why would we replace it?
I have no idea, but my ring had an antique finish and this ring does not.

There was no sympathy from the person on the other end of the phone.
There was just business talk and formalities but no heart.
You can file a formal complaint, he said automatically.
I was terribly disappointed; I had a rose ring with a new pearl but it was not my ring.

Through the years I told that story.
I told it as fact.
I told it the way it happened.
I was always annoyed at that ring company.

Fast-forward thirty-five years.
I am taking my ring to the jewelers so that it could be made into a pendant.
Upon inspection for the quality of gold, the man behind the magnifying eyepiece spoke.
So, you know that you will lose the engraving.

The engraving? I asked in unbelief.
Yes, here on the side though it’s very light and faint, he said as he inspected my ring.
He read the engraving to me.
It was my name and my graduation year.

I had forgotten that I had the ring engraved.
I told the story wrong.
All those years of thinking the worst and they were right all along.
All those years of not wanting to wear a ring that wasn’t mine and I was wrong.

My mind played back the whole incident.
All the words that were said and all the feelings of annoyance were unjustified.
The company did shine up my ring so much the antique finish was not the same.
But they did not switch my ring with another one as I accused.

I accused them in my mind for thirty-five years and I was completely wrong.
I did not take someone at their word.
The evidence was there all along but I failed to see it.
They were right; I was wrong!

Have mercy on me, O God, according to Your unfailing love; according to Your great compassion blot out my transgressions. Wash away all my iniquity and cleanse me from my sin. For I know my transgressions, and my sin is always before me. Against You, You only, have I sinned and done what is evil in Your sight so that You are proved right when you speak and justified when you judge. (Psalm 51:1-4)

I am so thankful that God does not do what I did.
God knows the truth.
God sees inside our heart.
Even when we think that we are hiding something or that it is too faint to see, God sees.

God always gets the story right.
In God there is nothing false.
Everything is laid bare before Him.
God makes the necessary repairs as He sanctifies us through His Spirit.

God does not replace us and make a new model.
God, the Potter, molds us and makes us more like His Son.
God turns our heart of stone into a heart of flesh.
Upon inspection, God declares, You’re mine!

There are no substitutions.
There is a little polishing as He makes the necessary repairs.
We are refined; we come out as gold.
We are always His, without a thought of replacement.

With God there is never a hint of mistaken identity.
Never.