They could have been anywhere. I had shoveled snow, started a fire, walked down the street, been in the garage, in the house, and in two houses down the street. I wrote down everything I could remember in the two hours between the keys last use and my awareness of their absence. (photo)Anxiety was high two days earlier on Friday night. Even after we wiggled a 35’ boom truck into our alley, and successfully avoided electrocution by high voltage power lines, to lift plywood and drywall into our attic....(photos below)
...Even after successfully avoiding broken limbs as we jumped 20’ off our roof into a snow bank. I was upset by the day’s end. I admit I wanted to drink more beer than my intelligence recommends to ineffectively ward off scary thoughts.
I walked the yard 20 times. I asked the neighbor to get into his houses again. I shoveled more snow. Clark and Audra helped look.
How much would replacements cost? Would they be able to cut a new set? $200? Rekey entire car? $500? $1000? After paying emma’s hospital bill, and putting in new windows…money wasn’t as accessible this month for us as it might have been in the past. I felt anxious. I felt like it was too small of item to ask God for help for. Even if I did pray, I felt unworthy of him answering it anyway, since I don't always pray as much as I could. I prayed anyway, but lacking the confidence the act on the cross offers.
I looked again on Saturday, in all the same places…5 or 6 times. I worried more. What if some young untrained youth found the keys and then found our car and then found our house? Should I re-key the house? Saturday came and went with no keys and more rotations of the stomach.
Sunday morning sniffed a bit like spring, so another walk in the alley and yard would be good for my winter lungs whether or not the prodigal keys made it home. I poked around for an hour or so, digging through ash remains of Fridays bonfire, eventually ending up with a shovel in the front yard.
The first raking motion of the shovel where I had slipped on the ice on Friday, exposed the lost little ring and evoked the giddy emotion that energized my Sunday morning stair bounding.
Immediately following the heel click dance, I was reminded of Luke 15. To remind myself of the details I looked it up. Three stories of lost things being found, and a celebration that came after. Personal connection to scriptures helps them come alive. The reason I lost my keys and the point of all of Luke 15 is to help me understand how heaven celebrates when a sinner repents, when a lost soul is found.
Thank you, Lord, for the keys.
Lord, make your search my search, and your find my find, so your celebration is my celebration.
Lord, we need your help because we are often more excited about found keys than found prodigals.
