Here’s the routine: My husband asks, “Have you seen my _______? " Ordinarily the missing object is where it was last used. However, the older we get, the foggier we are as to where and when that was. So as I go about my day I find things in random places and put them back where they belong.
I am making a concerted effort not to let it bother me anymore. In my former days, (which was not all that long ago) I would sometimes declare sanctimoniously that if I kept MY kitchen the way he kept HIS shop, we’d never eat. No one has to LOOK for my things. I KNOW how to put everything away. Yada. Yada. Yada. I wasn’t nice.
Thankfully, I control my tongue better now. But I confess, I still roll my eyes sometimes. Not too long ago, I was sitting in a random waiting room, thumbing through a random magazine, and I spotted an unusual letter written by a recently widowed woman who was obviously hurting.
She lamented all the times she had chided her husband for being late. No matter how many times she asked, he just couldn’t get home on time for dinner. She’d yell; he’d duck his head. Years of this routine. Then he died unexpectedly. He’d never be walking in late again. Belatedly, she wished she could thank him for working so hard and providing so much. Now her home was a desperately lonely place. I closed the magazine. It may have been a random magazine, but the message was for me.
Lost items are now opportunities. Random screwdrivers, drill bits, guitar picks, keys, wallet, and at least a half-dozen electronic devices are all my chance to give some love. Finding the lost brings me closer to the one who works so hard for me.
I started thinking about what else is lost. It often extends beyond things. We can lose our hope, our joy, or our perspective. Perhaps God was using this lost and found issue in my home to help me see a bigger need. Now that I have practice looking, maybe I can sense what others may have lost (their confidence, their faith, or their dreams) and help them find what's missing in their lives.