While pulling the second load of laundry out of the washer, I heard the clatter of a tiny object against the bottom of the washtub. In half a second, I realized it was the burned out 10-watt halogen bulb from the pocket of today's shirt, now fresh out of the dryer (intended as a reminder to buy a new one). In the other half of the same second, I remembered that my bus pass was in the same pocket. Finding it empty in the closet (a result I checked more than a few times), the search began: through the wet load of whites, in the lint trap, under the agitator, repeat. I moved a spotlight over to the laundry closet and tried to remove the agitator with no success (not that my odds of reassembly would have been good). The knot in the pit of my stomach grew tighter as I resigned my pass to the netherworld of missing socks. This was going to cost me—$200, to be precise, for a replacement pass.
As I prepared to throw in the towel—literally, because it was just hanging damp on the back of a chair until I gave up and put the load in the dryer—I discovered my wayward pass sitting unmolested on a shelf. I had to laugh, and thank God for His continued grace to me.