Darn. I Forgot The Camera.

"And He said unto me, My grace is sufficient for you..."  ... 2 Corinthians 12:9

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Late one night many (many!) years ago, Tom and I watched a Saturday Night Live skit where a family went on vacation in their station wagon. Next they're tooling along, looking out their windows and when they see The Grand Canyon, suddenly the dad moans, "Oh no! I forgot the camera!"

Then I think they drive past Niagara Falls and the wife says, "Darn! We forgot the camera!" After that, they spy crazy-wild things like three rainbows at once, Big Foot running through the woods and finally, a Pterodactyl flying in the sky. The kids in the backseat whine and shout, "I can't believe you forgot our camera!"

I so felt like that on Saturday. 

I mean, good gracious:

On our way to estate sales, the sun shone and sparkled upon Tom and myself after stubbornly hiding in clouds for days.

Red, gold and orange trees glowed. A breeze fluttered leaves down gently upon our windshield and on the street before us and we felt as though we'd slipped into a parade with confetti.

We discovered an ancient neighborhood we'd never driven through, one in a half-circle around a sweet little park.

The 1910-ish estate sale house there totally stole my heart and I stepped around its creaking floors in a trance. Its backyard looked like a 1930's movie set about an abandoned-but-once-beautiful house.

And of course, I forgot my camera at home. And Tom left his cell phone at work on Friday. We are sorry people, indeed.

I so wanted to share all these wonders with you! I kept kicking myself (in my too tight shoes, even) for forgetting my camera on a peak day of Autumn in New York. I reminded Tom of that ancient SNL skit and told him I was so there right now.

Sunday was gloomy-grey again. All day.

But I had to forgive myself for my forgetfulness (and for wearing the wrong shoes). We hear so often that God says we must forgive others, yet (I believe, anyway), we have to also forgive ourselves for our flaws, allowing them to make us more dependent upon God for everything, instead. 

If we don't forgive? We chance entering into a scary type of I'm-mad-at-me unforgiveness that simmers like stew inside us for decades.

And who wants that? 




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"[There is] therefore now no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus, who walk not after the flesh, but after the Spirit."   ... Romans 8:1



“In a very real sense not one of us is qualified, but it seems that God continually chooses the most unqualified to do his work, to bear his glory. If we are qualified, we tend to think that we have done the job ourselves. If we are forced to accept our evident lack of qualification, then there's no danger that we will confuse God's work with our own, or God's glory with our own.”
― Madeleine L'Engle, Walking on Water: Reflections on Faith and Art


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Every Sunday afternoon, I camp out. No really--here:

I drag my chair from the guest room and place it beside the bed in my new tiny room, along with my oh-so-useful soon-to-be-blue table. Tom watches his football and Nascar downstairs and I sit up here and watch tv and eat lunch and snacks and read my books, also:

We spend every Saturday together, but Sunday afternoons we each do our own thing. It works for us--and that's what matters.

(See my book wall? It's my miniature version of a dream-come-true room I'd love to have someday. Something much like this:)

Oh yeah. Inside my head, I am so there. Even now.  Already. :)


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This is the view from my new little room. I loved my closet room, but I must admit that having a window now is better, especially during these glorious Autumn days.

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