Prioritizing Humanity or Inhumanity?

My husband, Mike, couldn't find his wallet this past Saturday. After an exhaustive search, we realized it was better to be safe than sorry. We immediately began the process of canceling credit and bank cards and replacing vital documents. Fortunately, no suspicious activity had occurred, but with Mike's upcoming travel, we couldn't afford to wait.

What could have been a stressful ordeal turned into an unexpected reminder of the importance of human connection. From American Express to PNC to Medicare and the VA, my mini-crisis was met with understanding and empathy at every turn. Every representative I spoke with expressed genuine concern, apologized for the inconvenience, affirmed how scary this was, and expedited the replacement of cards. Their efficiency and compassion made all the difference.

One lesson I learned along the way: be sure to take pictures of the front and back of everything in your wallet. You never know when you'll need that information. Trust me, it's much easier than trying to recover a driver's license number you didn't even know you needed!

In a world increasingly driven by automation, the real heroes were the people who made a difficult situation easier with kindness, care, and understanding. This was a tremendous reminder that humanity is at the heart of every service.

Just when we thought we had everything under control, we received a call from a restaurant—they had found Mike's wallet! Safe and secure. Hurray! Relief washed over me, but as I reflected on the events of the day, I realized how grateful I was for the steps we had already taken. The experience wasn't wasted. It taught me valuable lessons about being prepared and the importance of having things in order before a crisis hits.

But my joy was short-lived.

As I was celebrating the return of Mike's wallet, Messenger hit me with an unexpected blow—my Facebook account was suspended. A notification popped up on my phone stating that I had violated their policies. I knew this wasn't true. Someone had hacked my account, and just like that, I was blocked and erased. There was no warning, no explanation, and no way to reach a human for support. It was as if I never existed.

I tried verifying my identity and even submitted a photo of myself, but Facebook claimed it wasn't me. Talk about prioritizing inhumanity. I searched for solutions, watching video after video from people who had been through the same ordeal. It broke my heart to see how common this was. One person was in tears, typing as she shared her story of finally, after two years, regaining access to her account. And that was considered a success!

Unlike the dozens of people I spoke to regarding the wallet issue, there is no one you can contact on Facebook to speak with about the problem. Not a single person or a phone number. Nada. So I searched the numerous online tech experts, who had bleak advice: Most people never get their accounts back. Their best suggestion? Open a new account and start all over again. To me, that sounded like going back into an unhealthy relationship or returning to a toxic workplace.

In the end, this whole situation was a blessing. Sometimes, a loss is actually an opportunity to let go of something that no longer serves us.

One thing I do understand is the loss people feel when years of memories disappear. Photos, messages, and connections can vanish in an instant. It reminds me of something my father experienced during the Agnes flood of 1972. His office in downtown Harrisburg was completely submerged. All of his awards, letters, writing, and pictures were destroyed. I vividly remember him standing on a bridge, talking to a policeman, insisting that he needed to check on his business. The policeman replied, "Sir, it's all underwater."

That day, my father shared a lesson he had learned. "In '72, God took it all away with a flood, " he said, "the next time, it'll be with fire." As Revelation 21:1 reminds us, "Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea." But in the end, everything will be restored perfectly.

So, if you don't see me on Facebook anymore, don't worry—there are plenty of other ways to stay connected! Sometimes, letting go of the old makes room for something even better!

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