Different Perceptions
You've heard the expression about a person who is keenly in tune with percentages and spread sheets and amortization tables, etc; they call that person a "numbers guy". . . (or "gal" if the old-fashioned definition of gender is being applied and you're being politically correct.) They can whip out a fact or a figure without breaking a sweat. I admire that skill. I don't have it. That department belongs to my better half and I'm extremely grateful.
On the opposite end of the spectrum, there are “numbers guys” who correlate the groupings of numerical digits with circumstances that have occurred in life; someone who sees the digits and gets a vision of past, present or future dates
or events and then reflects upon them. Sometimes they're sad recollections but most of the time they are peaceful. I'm one of those.
The clock, ie: the time, is one primary trigger. And no matter the manner in which it is being communicated — digitally, two hands (one long and one short) on a numbered face or a sun dial, it creates an emotion and a thought.
It usually starts early in the morning and continues for the remainder of the day. I'll explain that further.
I set an alarm to be safe, but rarely is it necessary. When I do wake, more times than not, the time is my home address – three digits staring me in the face. I say to myself. "Thank you Lord, thank you Mary, that's so cool," and I begin my day. I believe that they're reminding me that I am never alone.
And I am appreciative.
On the way to the bus barn each morning, again I see three digits glowing on the dash of the truck and it shows the address of the house where I grew up; and I say to myself, "Thank you Lord, thank you Mary, thank you Mom and thank you Dad." I believe that they're all with me inside the cab.
The birth dates and crossing over dates (passing away) of relatives and friends are big, as are anniversaries and other personal milestones. Historical dates like D-Day and 9-11 also offer the opportunity to think of what once was and why things are the way that they are. I never was good at instantly translating military time to civilian time (it confuses me) and military time clocks are not very common, or else I'd probably be thinking about the Crusades or the Reformation or the fires that consumed Joan of Arc.
Back in the day when phone numbers all used the same three digit prefix for a geographical vicinity, the final four numbers are all it takes to recall a high school chum or a girl I was either chasing or running away from. I'm not sure why they're stuck in my head, but I think of Jeff or Jeannie or Susie the lonely and socially awkward girl with terrible psoriasis whom I'd call the morning after a football game and talk to. Even if I played poorly she always said I was fabulous.
Christian theologies teach us that the belief in numerology and the zodiac are to be frowned on. I accept that, admitting however to a slight affection for
the trio of 444 referred to as the "Angel number." Whether it's on a license plate, on a highway billboard or contained in someone's address, it represents
being surrounded by angels, offering stability, divine encouragement and assuring me that I'm on the right path. I will glance into the invisible airspace around my head and say, “Hello everybody! Thank you for everything.” I hope it is not sin.
The microwave is probably my favorite. It is an intentional act rather than a random sighting, but have faith that it is beneficial for me. If I need to reheat something for one minute, I'll stop it on :03 seconds in honor of the Holy Trinity, or :12 seconds, giving a shout out to the Apostles. A reheat going for two minutes or longer is stopped at :33 seconds, which was the age of Jesus during his crucifixion.
I know he's always with me and doesn't need a reminder. It's rare for me, but I'm just playin' it safe.
