Our Father, who art at the community yard sale, help me not to feel offended if someone says my crap isn’t worth the price I have on it. If they’re shopping at yard sales, chances are good they’re reselling it on ebay or at consignment stores and it’s nothing personal. Forgive me the grime I stirred up going through my old things in the garage, for thine is the kingdom of dust motes and sneezing. Give me the patience to remember some people simply love the thrill of bargaining, and it’s not necessarily because they are cheap bastards. So forgive me my trespasses for thinking they are. Lead me not into the temptation of my neighbor’s sale, but deliver me straight to the bank if I actually make any money. Thine is also the kingdom where the kids cooperate running their donut stand, the power if they do it without fighting over who gets to pour the juice, and the glory if they in fact make a profit at it.
Most of all, deliver me from the hell of the garage sale, forever and ever, or at least until this time next year.