So long, little yellow purse
Both of my girls are snoozing sweetly in their beds, it's nearly midnight, and I am wide awake. Yuck.
Earlier this evening, I loaded up the girls (and my mom) to go watch Brian play softball. I figured Anna would enjoy some time outside, and although it was muggy and still, I didn't think Kate would melt in the heat. Loaded down with two little girls and no stroller, I snagged the diaper bag out of the Jeep once we arrived at the ball diamonds, but I shoved my purse under a black piece of fabric and some life jackets that were still there from our lake trip this weekend. Stupid. I know better than that, but I was trying to avoid carrying more than I needed, and in my brain at the time, diapers and hand sanitizer seemed more necessary than my cell phone and wallet.
I watched Brian hit a home run, watched Anna make friends with a darling little girl whose dad played for the opposing team, watched my mom grin and bounce Kate from her spot on the bottom bleacher. Brian's team won. It was a good night.
Back at the Jeep and packing up to head home, I opened the back hatch to toss in the diaper bag and immediately noticed that my purse was gone. Then, I noticed that the driver's side rear window had been smashed. Broken glass crunched under my sandals, and my heart sank.
Seemingly everything was in that stupid purse: my cell phone, credit cards, insurance cards, driver's license, maternity leave disability paperwork, appointment reminders, check books, Brian's social security card, pictures of my girls, my favorite ink pen, the shoes to Anna's favorite Cinderella doll...
I felt absolutely sick. Part of me wanted to pitch a two-year-old-style tantrum at the injustice of it all and part of me wanted to beat myself senseless for even thinking of leaving my purse in an unattended vehicle. Another part of me wanted to find the thief and beat him senseless. And yet, in the midst of all the frustration, I couldn't ignore a nagging heartache that I soon recognized as pity for the thief who jacked my stuff.
Although part of me still does want to inflict bodily harm upon the person who stole from me, as I think about it more, I'm finding that I would love to meet that person for a less violent reason. I want to know his back story. I want to pray for him. I want to understand what is so off kilter in his life that he would prey on me as a young mom. He had to have watched me hide my purse. Was he desperate for money? Addicted to something? Searching for acceptance in a bad crowd? Out to prove a point? Seeking a thrill? Operating out of a sense of entitlement? Bored?
Anna was confused as to why someone would take my purse, too. She asked me who took it, and all I could think to tell her was, "someone who needs Jesus."
Brian, being my anchor in practically all aspects of this life, gave me a hug and calmly set about cancelling credit cards, putting in a claim with insurance, and otherwise trying to cut our losses. It meant the world to me. He was so calm, so reassuring, so loving in spite of the fact that I had just compromised his finances and his identity along with my own. We have $60 in cash to get us by until we can get things straightened out with the banks, and his truck is running on low fuel. He didn't seem thrown by this fact, either.
With Brian shouldering the bulk of the technical hassle, I have had more time to think about how badly I really want God to use this moment of "ugly" to shine some light. I would love to see God get a hold of the thief and transform his life. I would love for other people who hear about this or who are helping us straighten everything out to be blessed somehow in unexpected ways. I would love for there to be some sort of constructive outcome to this destructive, selfish act.
Well, in spite of the fact that my eyes aren't in the least bit heavy, I know that two little girls will be expecting me to care for them in a non-zombified state in the morning.
I suppose it's time I at least try to get some rest for their sake.
Earlier this evening, I loaded up the girls (and my mom) to go watch Brian play softball. I figured Anna would enjoy some time outside, and although it was muggy and still, I didn't think Kate would melt in the heat. Loaded down with two little girls and no stroller, I snagged the diaper bag out of the Jeep once we arrived at the ball diamonds, but I shoved my purse under a black piece of fabric and some life jackets that were still there from our lake trip this weekend. Stupid. I know better than that, but I was trying to avoid carrying more than I needed, and in my brain at the time, diapers and hand sanitizer seemed more necessary than my cell phone and wallet.
I watched Brian hit a home run, watched Anna make friends with a darling little girl whose dad played for the opposing team, watched my mom grin and bounce Kate from her spot on the bottom bleacher. Brian's team won. It was a good night.
Back at the Jeep and packing up to head home, I opened the back hatch to toss in the diaper bag and immediately noticed that my purse was gone. Then, I noticed that the driver's side rear window had been smashed. Broken glass crunched under my sandals, and my heart sank.
Seemingly everything was in that stupid purse: my cell phone, credit cards, insurance cards, driver's license, maternity leave disability paperwork, appointment reminders, check books, Brian's social security card, pictures of my girls, my favorite ink pen, the shoes to Anna's favorite Cinderella doll...
I felt absolutely sick. Part of me wanted to pitch a two-year-old-style tantrum at the injustice of it all and part of me wanted to beat myself senseless for even thinking of leaving my purse in an unattended vehicle. Another part of me wanted to find the thief and beat him senseless. And yet, in the midst of all the frustration, I couldn't ignore a nagging heartache that I soon recognized as pity for the thief who jacked my stuff.
Although part of me still does want to inflict bodily harm upon the person who stole from me, as I think about it more, I'm finding that I would love to meet that person for a less violent reason. I want to know his back story. I want to pray for him. I want to understand what is so off kilter in his life that he would prey on me as a young mom. He had to have watched me hide my purse. Was he desperate for money? Addicted to something? Searching for acceptance in a bad crowd? Out to prove a point? Seeking a thrill? Operating out of a sense of entitlement? Bored?
Anna was confused as to why someone would take my purse, too. She asked me who took it, and all I could think to tell her was, "someone who needs Jesus."
Brian, being my anchor in practically all aspects of this life, gave me a hug and calmly set about cancelling credit cards, putting in a claim with insurance, and otherwise trying to cut our losses. It meant the world to me. He was so calm, so reassuring, so loving in spite of the fact that I had just compromised his finances and his identity along with my own. We have $60 in cash to get us by until we can get things straightened out with the banks, and his truck is running on low fuel. He didn't seem thrown by this fact, either.
With Brian shouldering the bulk of the technical hassle, I have had more time to think about how badly I really want God to use this moment of "ugly" to shine some light. I would love to see God get a hold of the thief and transform his life. I would love for other people who hear about this or who are helping us straighten everything out to be blessed somehow in unexpected ways. I would love for there to be some sort of constructive outcome to this destructive, selfish act.
Well, in spite of the fact that my eyes aren't in the least bit heavy, I know that two little girls will be expecting me to care for them in a non-zombified state in the morning.
I suppose it's time I at least try to get some rest for their sake.
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