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
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?