I came home to a flood. The second floor air conditioner had been pouring water nonstop, while we were unaware at work. It seeped it’s way through the wooden floor to the downstairs ceiling.
Digging through the mess under my son’s bed tonight while sopping up the water, we pulled out suitcases, blankets and found baby photo albums. I dropped everything and dragged the photo albums downstairs, dripping as I ran. I tore the cover off from the front of the album. I ripped each paper page from the plastic envelopes that carefully held my treasured photos. I was amazed that not one photo was harmed. (I did find one photo in the back loose, that was damaged beyond recognition. That’s it.)
Here I sit waiting for piles of wet towels to be washed and dried. There are suitcases and blankets all over the house. My ripped pages with photos are draped all over the house to dry the edges before I carefully pull each of them out.
I want to cry for my disaster, but I have to sigh. God watched over what was most important. It could have been worse. I am blessed despite my difficulties.