Thanks for stopping by, whether you got here by a link or hitting "next blog" -- I am glad you are here. I've also done some writing on homeschooling, and what I learned thinking I was teaching.

Wednesday, January 14, 2015

ROBBED – again

Carelessness costs . . . Thinking I could never again be a crime statistic, albeit, petty, was plain stupid. Especially since, I had fair warning.

 A couple of years ago, we left our cars – parked in our driveway – unlocked, and were surprised, chagrined and embarrassed to discover a thief took advantage and swiped a GPS. Within months, its replacement was also swiped when I left my luggage in plain view of the desk clerk at our hotel for a few minutes.

But the lesson that thieves are bold, especially when I am careless didn’t germinate many precautions.  

The Latest Ebenezer
I left a small jewelry bag nestled deep in my suitcase in a hotel recently rather than taking it with me.  [No] Surprise! Someone helped themselves to my humble treasures, taking the good stuff, and leaving the paste. 

Shock, feelings of being victimized welled up. So did the conviction that I have no more excuse for being so poor a steward than the thief does, who pilfered through my luggage and helped themselves to what was not theirs. 

Jessamyn West, the American author of Friendly Persuasion, once wrote: It is very easy to forgive others their mistakes; it takes more grit to forgive them for having witnessed your own.  It’s going to take more than grit for me to forgive those thieves for have taken advantage of my mistake: willful foolishness – and myself.

I didn’t discover the loss for several days after we returned home – and have been mourning the loss of my valuables – and my own foolishness.  What was taken had some material value – but each piece’s sentimental value was more. The memories of the givers – their generosity – these are still mine. The recognition I bear some blame for losing these gifts stings.

My little jewelry sack is yet another Ebenezer  . . . reminding me

The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree
I planted; they have torn me, and I bleed.
I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed.
~George Gordon, Lord Byron, Childe Harold's Pilgrimage

Another little reproof that might have wider implications when I remember a few broken relationships? 

No comments: