I have never believed – or, rather, I try very hard not to believe – that God is the Lord of Parking Spots.

Generally speaking, I would hope He has bigger things on His mind than making sure I don’t have to run too far in the rain.

That said, when I receive a small miracle – even when I’m thinking He wasn’t necessarily busy trying to arrange things just that way – I say THANK YOU.

Think of it as thanking your dad for filling the gas tank. He may have needed to fill it up for his own purposes, but if it helps you out, too, hey, a little gratitude isn’t amiss.

Today’s small miracle is brought to you by the bottomless source of frustration that is my company’s latest health plan.

Quick side note: I love being employed! I love having health insurance! I am not now nor have I ever been planning to break up with either, and I hope neither is planning to ditch me! There. Now back off, health goons, and let me eat my leftover Easter candy in peace.

On with the complaining. See, it’s like this: I have to now get all my prescriptions filled by mail or pay the full cost of them myself. Never mind that I like my particular hometown pharmacy, or that they know me and my family on sight, or that I try, when possible, to keep local people employed. No – my company hath decreed I shall get my prescriptions from very far away, or forever hold either my ailments or my paycheck, whichever is smaller.

So I, a dutiful employee, received my first prescription in the mail and, seeing it was getting close to running out, called as instructed for a refill.

“You are not yet eligible for a refill on this prescription,” the cheerful automated voice informed me. “Your next refill is available on June! Third! You can expect your refill to be shipped approximately June! Ninth!”

I wanted to tell the cheerful automated voice that I’ll actually be finished with my prescription on May! Twenty-ninth!, along with a few other cheerful not-so-automated expressions of my own, but someone was smart enough to program that option out. So I hung up and stewed about that for a while.

It was past 5 p.m. and I couldn’t call my regular doctor for an emergency refill.  I planned to do it the next day, but it was again well past 5 again when I got home. Husband met me at the door.

“By the way, the pharmacy called,” he said. “They said they have a prescription for you.”

Puzzled, I called my hometown pharmacy and left a message asking what I’d forgotten to get. They knew I was on the mail-order plan now, and even when I wasn’t, I had always had to call in a refill and had never just received one automatically. Slightly Older Princess’ one-time cough medicine? That had been taken care of months ago.

The pharmacist called me back today and told me I had a refill of my prescription waiting to be picked up. It had been automatically refilled several weeks ago.

“But – but – ” I spluttered. “They made me go to mail order! I’m supposed to get these things in the mail!”

She sounded slightly confused herself. “Well, it says here it was an automatic refill.”

I told her the situation of the too-early call to the mail-order company, and the fact that I really would need something earlier. She said perhaps that was why the automated voice had said it was too early: one was already waiting for me. Why it would be waiting at the pharmacy I was no longer allowed to use, instead of in my mailbox, wasn’t clear to either of us.

But it’s there. And I’m going to pick it up this afternoon.

God’s in his heaven, all’s right with the world.