Most likely not... But I am attempting to make myself feel better. Sunday morning the kids and I all rushed out the door to get to church on time. As we came out of the gate and turned toward the van we were met with a very sad scene. My driver's side window was shattered all over the road. For just a moment I held out hope that it was some terrible accident, but alas, it was not. My church bag was gone, another tote, my purse (which held inside my smaller purse and my wallet, our Garmin, and some running gear we had in the center console. In a not so cool way I told my kids to get back into the house while I called the police. One of us called Mike. I spent the next hour calling banks and credit card companies. A pain in the butt on a Sunday. Thankfully, nothing had been used. No money gone.
I am sad about the whole thing. It scared the girls, we all feel a little less secure. My new purse and my new bag from Jane and my mom are gone. The saddest part of it all is that my spiritual journal is gone. I have worked on keeping it for almost a year now. So to make myself feel better I picture our undesirable criminal rifling through it. He sees a quote from President Uchtdorf, he reads, he reads more. A seed is planted and this man turns away from a life of crime. He is visited by some elders tracting in his neighborhood, he invites them in, repents, he is baptized. Ten years from now he sends my journal back to me (he had to do extensive research as to our whereabouts). Isn't that better than knowing it's stuffed in a garbage can (not even recycled)or soaking in a ditch by the side of the road?
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
I am sad about the whole thing. It scared the girls, we all feel a little less secure. My new purse and my new bag from Jane and my mom are gone. The saddest part of it all is that my spiritual journal is gone. I have worked on keeping it for almost a year now. So to make myself feel better I picture our undesirable criminal rifling through it. He sees a quote from President Uchtdorf, he reads, he reads more. A seed is planted and this man turns away from a life of crime. He is visited by some elders tracting in his neighborhood, he invites them in, repents, he is baptized. Ten years from now he sends my journal back to me (he had to do extensive research as to our whereabouts). Isn't that better than knowing it's stuffed in a garbage can (not even recycled)or soaking in a ditch by the side of the road?
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
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