I’ve been trying to remember… There’s a relatively famous science fiction story about a woman (I think she might have been a college student?) who was frustrated because things seemed to keep vanishing on her. Not important things, just she’d set down a gluestick or pen or something and then when she wanted it again it wouldn’t be there and never showed up again.
Turns out that later in her life she would become super famous for some important deed or discovery or whatever. And time travelers from the future were unable to refrain from taking tiny little ‘souvenirs’ when they came back to sightsee/research/study her.
So take heart: if you keep losing unimportant stuff, it means you will soon become famous for something MAGNIFICENT.
There’s a giant closet in hyperspace with all the lost items from my house. Mainly socks, but hair ties, dog toys, one table knife, singleton earrings, scissors, bookmarks, remotes, a couple of phones, hair brushes, tweezers, nail clippers, an expensive package of halogen light bulbs, on and on and on. BUT, I found baby Jesus. That was a win.
ETA: I mean, we’re happy for you. You’re clearly more at peace, and it’s great you’ve kicked the bad stuff, but it’s just well, if I had a buck for every baby that’s tried to get me to believe in baby Jesus, well, I wouldn’t need baby Jesus.
Years ago I read a book called, I think, The Land of Lost Handkerchiefs. It was a portal story about two little girls who kept losing their handkerchiefs and then one day found themselves in the world where all of the lost handkerchiefs had been gathered up, carefully washed, and hung to dry on a tree. I don’t remember what happened after that.
Anyway, ever since then I’ve wondered if other lands exist for other objects that go missing a lot. Like socks. Or nail clippers (I must have dozens of those and can never find one when I want it).
So maybe there’s a Land of Lost Skirts, and maybe there are two little girls there who have found it and have lovingly washed it and hung it out to dry on a tree, and when it was dry they carefully ironed it and folded it up.
Can we extend this to no witnessing at work? Jesus doesn’t care about the material test results. Jesus is not the one who spent the morning reading ASTM standards and writing a justification. Jesus doesn’t have to put His name on the verification form, and will never face the possibility of explaining His reasoning to auditors. Please refrain from repeatedly thanking Jesus when the above mentioned tasks are completed and the paperwork is on your desk in plenty of time to meet the afternoon’s shipping cutoff time.
*“The Spirit is like unto a whoosh.
Thou may not see it, yet thou seest the effects thereof.
A whoosh doth indeed bloweth whither it listeth,
and no mere mortal may stem its mission.” *
Hezekiah 3:16 - -
Hey, Jeep’s Phoenix, about your co-worker…
So is s/he just saying “Praise Jay-sus, every page is printed!” Or are they literally ascribing test results to Jesus? 'Cause that’s over the line… of theology and sanity.
Oh, thank you! This makes me feel better. I’ve lost small things before like pens and jewelry but never something sizable. I’m not crazy! (Though I still spot check the closet every day.)
I am fostering a middle aged cat who was surrendered to the shelter after a dog attack (?maybe, coulda been a wild animal) Anyway he’s a neutered male. My cats have always hung out in the laundry room, they like the dryer. They won’t let the foster even a speck of space in there. Like all cats he’s just looking for a warm spot to nap. I fixed him a bed close to the woodstove. He loves it. Now my cats are trying to take over his spot. My cats are rotten to the core, they think the whole house belongs to them. The poor foster saw them coming and ran under the woodstove, I immediately smelled hair burning. I got him out and in his carrier. He has a burned patch of missing hair on his tail. Doesn’t look like the skin is burned. Dang, I hate to get fired from volunteering at the shelter. They are sure to wonder why I can’t control my demons. No one understands. These cats own me. I’m their slave. My sad, sad life. Aarrggh.
ETA my sweet babies are asleep and purring in the guest cats bed by the stove, as we speak. They have no remorse.
(Though I still spot check the closet every day.)