It was a green Sunday yesterday. We left the red stoles of Reformation and the white of All Saints' and were back to green again, green on a lovely autumn morning, unseasonably warm. I wasn't sure who had the children's message, for sure, so I brought in a small jar of coins I keep in my car, just in case. I counted out a few pennies (the widow's mite), but it turns out I didn't need them; the other pastor had prepared a children's message.
I presided two services in the morning, and had a baptism at the third. I ducked out of the beginning of the third service to introduce myself to a young couple with a toddler -- potential new members. The baby being baptized wore a gown embroidered by grandmother with Hardangar edging; underneath he wore the baptismal gown of his great-great-grandfather, it was told.
I returned to my office still with that "post-baptism buzz" I often feel. We were in a hurry; My husband, mother-in-law and I were all going to the memorial service of a good friend of theirs: a church musician of some renown in Lutheran circles. But I realized with a start that the jar of coins was now empty.
My heart sank. I saw my purse and checked my billfold. All of the cash (which was not much, admittedly) was gone. My health care prescription card was gone too. But, thankfully, my checkbook and credit cards were all still there. I felt somewhat better until I picked up my briefcase and it felt light to me.
My laptop was gone.
The exact details I don't feel that I can blog about, but I will say this: my office was locked.
P.S. I am typing this on my husband's computer.