Lost

On Tuesday morning, I rose before the sun for a Nana day with the lovely Madelyn Simone and the delightful and determined Elizabeth Holiday. My tasks were simple: get both girls ready for school, make sure Madelyn caught the bus on time, and deliver Lizzie to the welcoming arms of Tiny Tots Nursery School. I tend to run at least five minutes late in the morning, so I was excited to head out with ten minutes to spare. Maybe I could even stop for a muffin at Dunkin Donuts. Reaching into my purse for my car and house keys, my hands came up empty. 

Did I leave them on the counter, the table, in my coat pocket? No, no, and no. After a frantic search, I grabbed the spare set of car keys and ran out the door. Where could those keys be? The night before, I had pulled into our attached garage, carried a couple of bags of groceries into the house, and settled down to watch an hour or so of television. Logic tells me the wayward keys have to be within the confines of our home.

Two days post-loss, they are still missing. I’ve dug through garbage, searched and vacuumed my car, checked the refrigerator and freezer, and nada! I’ve also received well-intentioned advice, such as these sincere words from Madelyn: “When you lose something, you need to retrace your steps.” Since I can get from the garage to the end of my house in less than one hundred steps, that journey didn’t take too long.

Of course, this isn’t my first rodeo. I’m no novice when it comes to searching for missing objects. I’ve lost an entire set of facility keys, lost my cell phone at Disneyworld, and drove off from our new house last Christmastime with my phone on the roof of the car. And while I hate to mention it, Larry and our two older boys became separated from Dan and I at Cedar Point in the days before cell phones, and we spent many miserable hours trying to find each other. It happens.

We’ve all lost things, well, except for those people who live perfect lives, who have it all together. And then there’s us, the people with the refrigerator magnet that says, “I finally got it all together but I can’t remember where I put it.” Busy lives, forgetful moments, and inattention can lead to an unexpected search that turns up empty. Sometimes we get lucky and find the errant object, but not always.

About twenty years ago, volunteers were assisting in the clean-up from our Salvation Army Christmas toy distribution. We’d provided toys, clothing, coats and food for two thousand families over a two-day span, so the level of exhaustion was high that night as we sorted through mismatched mittens and packed away the remaining toys for the following year. In between counting the Christmas kettles, we worked in the gym, sealing a dozen boxes for the storage unit. 

Suddenly, one of the volunteers cried out, “My ring!” Her antique ring, in the family for generations, was missing from her finger. We unpacked every box that night, but the ring wasn’t to be found. Heartbroken, we finally gave up, reluctantly admitting defeat. 

Life can be like that. We lose hope, we lose control, we lose courage, and we may even lose faith for a time. We look in all the familiar places, we retrace our steps, we search diligently, and we even call on our companions for help, but our hands and hearts are empty. 

Yet there comes another chapter. Setting up for the next year’s toy shop, we had unloaded more than a hundred boxes when a volunteer came to me with a ring in her hand. “Look what I found in one of the boxes. Isn’t this pretty? I wonder if someone lost this?” 

There it was, Mary’s ring.

Thousands of years ago, the Hebrew psalmist understood. “Weeping,” David wrote, “may last for the night, but joy comes in the morning.” I write tonight with gratitude for recovered rings, compassion for discouraged hearts, and my fingers crossed that morning will shine its light on my keys!

P.S.  After searching for three days, the errant keys were discovered cushioned between the blanket and bedspread in the middle of our king sized bed.