On the second day of my arrival in Bali, an ATM swallowed my credit card—my only card. The woman on the hotline said nothing could be done; the card would be destroyed, and I should order a new one. A new card that would be delivered in a few weeks—to Germany. I decided that my card would come back to me. And this five-day journey would become a blueprint for Life itself.

I sit across from Ramong, who works at the reception of the hotel in the Sanur port area where I am staying at. He had called the bank that operates the ATM and spoken to them in Indonesian. While he explains what they had just said, my thoughts start to race. I see myself flying back to Germany or having a very difficult journey, calculating how much cash I have and how long it will last. These automatic thoughts hurt—on top of what had just happened.

Whether it is jet lag, my general state of being, or both combined, I feel weak, and the first thing I can’t carry right now has to go: my resistance to the situation, mentally fighting against the fact that the card had been swallowed. In my mind, I say: Yes, okay. It has been swallowed. Yes, okay. Accepted.

And then, the next thought follows: What if this card were to come back to me? Right into the purse I am holding in my hands on my lap. I know this possibility exists. And I make the choice for it to become a reality. It’s important to note: I make this choice without fully believing it will happen. I believe it 51% and am curious to see what will happen when I commit to the possibility of the card coming back to me.

I hear Ramong’s voice: “Let’s go.“ Where? Downtown Denpasar, where the head office of the bank is. It’s Ramong’s spare time now, and he wants to help. He is probably an Earth Angel. He hands me a helmet. I am afraid of scooters.

The main street in Denpasar has three packed lanes: scooters, cars, trucks, loud and fast. I sit on the back of Ramong’s scooter, my body stiff. He surpasses cars, left and right, while other scooters are passing us. The ride downtown takes 30 minutes there and back. I become aware of myself in the reflection of Ramong’s black helmet. This is me, on the back of a stranger's scooter, speeding down a three-lane road, my hands clinging to the metal behind my back. My body is terrified. The next sixty minutes will be a nightmare—except I decide to say Yes, okay one more time. Is there another option of experiencing this situation? Can I trust this stranger, or God? And say: Yes, okay. I see this as an adventure.
I decide to do so. My body relaxes.

It is Saturday, and the bank is closed. I have 350 Euros in cash and exchange them on the way back to the hotel. I pack my bag and take the ferry to Lembongan Island as I had originally intended. There is nothing I can do. I have to give this Up↑. I block my card temporarily.

At the island hotel check-in, I hear myself asking to pay via the booking platform, so I could use my bank account. I hear myself telling the story of the card that had been swallowed by the ATM. Something within me says: If you want your card to return, stop telling this story. I stop telling this story. I also don’t tell friends or family about it in texts or calls. I act as if it had never happened.

Do I trust now 100%, act in active faith, and spend the cash I have generously? No. I still trust 51%, sometimes more. I am mindful and spend cash only on what feels right. I rent a scooter because I want to, and the island feels safe to drive on, with almost no traffic. Additionally, other options appear. A woman next to me in a restaurant is paying with her phone. I remember I had always ignored connecting my card to mobile payment systems. Now I do. I connect the virtual version of my card with my phone and unblock it when I need to pay. This won’t get me cash—but it saves me the cash I have. I start to feel more relaxed. Ramong writes he found a branch of the bank, 300 meters away from Sanur port, and that he will pick me up Monday morning to go there together. He definitively is an Earth Angel. I realize I had forgotten my favorite shampoo in the hotel. I think about asking Ramong for it; a feeling says: don’t ask. A feeling or voice similiar to the one that had told me to stop telling the swallowed-card-story. And so I don’t ask for my shampoo.

The next day, I drive the scooter across a swaying bridge and feel proud of myself. In the afternoon, I do some research on how to get your card back in Bali. I close the browser quickly. The stories are not exactly uplifting. And they are not mine. I decide to trust 51% plus: my card comes back to me. It was never lost.

It is Monday morning, and I am in a vulnerable place. What I have practiced and believed on an island will soon show evidence in the material world—or not. It feels safer to say: It doesn’t really matter if the card comes back to me. Because if it doesn’t matter I can’t be disappointed or hurt.

It is courageous to ask for what you want and trust you will get it. Trusting in God.
I know there is nothing that I can do to make it happen. I can only let it be done for me. My heart feels tender and at the same time so intimate with God. It is an intimacy that feels exquisite. I risk it, risk to be let down. It feels like the only path towards a miracle.

At the bank, I wait until it is my turn. The friendly woman explains that there is a form to enter the details of my card. A form! (Is it that simple? There was nothing about this on the internet) A possibility! The lady can’t promise anything, of course. It is a company that empties the ATMs for the bank.

Ramong picks me up and drives me to the hotel. I'll stay there until the bank gives news. Ramong carries my backpack through the garden to my room. A lady who cleans the rooms appears, seemingly out of nowhere. She hands me a bottle—it is my shampoo. Without words. It feels as if she had handed it to me from another dimension, through a glitch in the matrix. It is the moment I know my card will come back. And for the first time in a long time I honestly smile, from deep inside. In my room, I think about this miracle. I had followed a feeling to not ask Ramong about my shampoo. Instead, I had asked energetically. It had been enough.

Despite having a certain feeling that my card will return, there are still doubts lingering. I understand that I'm not constantly living in 100% Faith and Trust. Could my fear be hindering the card from finding its way back to me? I recognize that there's some fear within my Faith. But what if I could release some of this fear, replacing it with joy? It's just a thought experiment for now, but I'm planting the seed here, setting it into practice later, in another story.
Sanur may not match the typical image of Bali with its lack of nature or picturesque beaches. However, it offers unexpected gems like a wonderful Indian whole food store with a welcoming owner—and signs along the way.

The next morning, I head to breakfast early, equipped with my journal and pencils. My favorite pencil, a vibrant neon yellow one, has been broken for some time now. I've often thought about buying or finding a pencil sharpener, yet never actively pursued it. As I enter the breakfast room, I find it empty—no other guests, no staff.
But right there, on the counter at the entrance, sits a pencil sharpener. I stare at it in disbelief. I hadn't even consciously asked for it. Then Made, who takes care of breakfast, appears. He remembers my preferences from my first day at the hotel, before leaving to Lembongan, and kindly offers to sharpen the pencil for me.

looks like a sharpener - to me it’s a proof of Magic

Ramong had provided his telephone number to the bank as they required an Indonesian one. I purchase a SIM card and visit the bank to update them with my new number. The lady informs me that she has received my card. It is already in their office. I have goosebumps.
However, she explains that she awaits approval from the head office, which could come later in the afternoon or by tomorrow. As I leave the office, a silent form of joy envelops my being, and a loving voice whispers, "You see, this is how we do it. Step by step." I recognize this voice—it's the voice of God.

In the Indian whole food store, I purchase healthy cookies for the lady at the bank and her team.

The next morning, my telephone rings, and I know it's the bank, as they're the only ones with my Indonesian number. Sitting across from the lady, I find myself smiling from within. My card lies on the table before her, and I can’t believe it. And I can, at the same time. Thoughts and feelings swirl within me as she fills out a form. I feel immensely grateful that the ATM had swallowed my card. Grateful toward myself for deciding that it would return, for embracing vulnerability, and for trusting on a whole new level. Grateful for summoning the courage to put into practice what I had studied over the past years. Above all, I feel profoundly grateful to God—who guided me into and through this experience and ultimately returned my card.

The bank's rules stipulate that a picture must be taken when returning a card to its owner, serving as proof that the card was given to its rightful owner. When the boss of the lady hands me the card, I feel as though she is handing me a check of 10 million dollars. Both the lady and I smile as if we have won the lottery, and our hands form hearts. I give her the healthy cookies. We hug, I put my card back into my purse. And then we part.

I walk back to the hotel, allowed to continue my (Asian) journey with an invaluable lesson, a blueprint for everything in Life:

1) Be courageous enough to ask for what you really want.
2) Decide to trust at least 51%. Or 55%.
3) Doubts and fears can occur. They don’t affect the outcome.
4) Refrain from telling a story that doesn’t align with the outcome you place your Faith in (also internally)
5) Choose to say Yes, okay to whatever is presented before you (non-resistance causes flow).

Have I proven myself? Have I demonstrated my ability to manifest?

I don't feel so.

Instead, I feel that I have demonstrated God—or rather, I have given God the opportunity to demonstrate Himself.

And I have begun to cultivate my fearless and joyful Faith.

Story lived bymirjam, Bali 9th-13th December 2023

Yes, okay. - or: how my credit card returned to me.