I love all the locks on the doors. I love the fact that every window has heavy iron bars. I love that our hacienda is closed with a giant iron gate and a heavy padlock. These are all things that help me sleep at night a little more peacefully.
These things are great, until you lose your keys and the doors are locked. This morning, I used the keys to unlock the back door so I could light the hot water heater. (There was wind in the night, so it was out.) I remember placing the keys on the table in the kitchen. Later, one of my children, who shall remain nameless, picked them up, and I told her to put them away. It was to be the last time I saw them.
They passed through her hands to the unpredictable hands of my son, who is not remaining nameless because I'm still holding it against the little twerp. Extensive questioning revealed that they went up and down the stairs in a pillowcase for a while, unlocked secret doors in the walls and the beds in the kids bedrooms, and then somehow evaporated.
I have an image in my mind of George Bailey shaking poor Uncle Billy by the collar and screaming at him, and for the first time, I relate to George. (Note, I did not do that to my son, I just related.) We were trapped in the house with no way out.
Hours later, with everything from the rooms having been gone through, every stone unturned, and church service coming up, we gave up and called a locksmith. He got them open after about 30 minutes of work, and had the locks replaced with new keys two hours after that.
Hey I've got an idea! Let's be real careful with these keys!
I had a Bible lesson to give tonight about being anxious for nothing...it's funny how the Lord gives me an object lesson on what I'm teaching. I'm pretty sure that lesson was more for me than for the kids.