Vanished

“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moths

and vermin destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But

store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moths and

vermin do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and

steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

(Matthew 6:19 – 21)

I don’t have a lot of nice jewelry. Usually, you’ll only find me wearing my wedding ring and another ring Art gave me for our fifteenth wedding anniversary. Other than those two rings, I have only a few simple pieces that have been given to me over the years. Little treasures not worth a lot of money, but special because they hold a lot of memories.

A child’s ring my stepdad gave me the day he asked my mom to marry him.

A ring I got for my college graduation.

A bracelet my mom gave me for Christmas several years ago. And another bracelet Art gave me for Valentine’s Day this year.

A legacy ring given to me the day my first daughter was born.

My college sorority pin.

A baby’s signet ring, with the faint initials of my dad, who left and never came back.

Simple but special.

One day I noticed that the bracelet Art had given me for Valentine’s Day wasn’t where I thought I left it. I spent several days searching and wondering where I’d put it. Convinced I’d simply misplaced it and would find it soon, I wasn’t too worried.

When I still hadn’t found it after three days, it dawned on me that maybe I’d put it in a drawer where I keep my other jewelry. I opened the drawer and my heart sank. Everything was gone. The rings. The bracelets. The pin. The one possession I had in this world that connected me to my biological father. Little things that held big memories.

My first reaction was to grab both of my ring fingers. Much to my relief, I’d worn my wedding and anniversary rings. They were safe. But everything else had vanished.

I stared at the open drawer, sat down on a little stool in my bathroom, and willed my tired mind to start making a mental list of reasons to be thankful.

Strange, I know.

Trust me, there were many other lists begging to take up real estate in my brain. Lists of suspects. Lists of memories and how irreplaceable most of the pieces were. Lists of when this might have happened and how. Lists of anything else that might be missing. Okay, let’s be honest, I wanted to come completely unglued and kick into aggressive figure-it-out mode.

But sometimes refusing the pull to come unglued is the only way to prove to ourselves it is possible to have a different kind of reaction. So I willed those other lists aside. After all, I’d already had enough taken from me in that moment. I didn’t need to freely hand over my heart as well.

I am thankful for my children who are here and not taken.

I am thankful for my husband who will let me stick my cold feet underneath his legs tonight.

I am thankful for today’s sun that shines and the moon whose light will dance with tonight’s shadows.

I am thankful for the thousands of steady breaths I take every day and never have to think about.

I am thankful for memories that flicker and ignite on command.

I am thankful to still be able to retrieve those memories.

And on and on I went. Until I could close the drawer and ask God for just one thing. Okay, two things …

First, Lord, wrap Your hope around the person who took these things right now and show them another way. They must be in a really bad spot right now. Come near them. And secondly, if possible, might they just return that one thing? Lord, You know what that one thing is. If possible … and if not … thank You still a thousand times over. For even in the midst of things stolen, I have been given a great gift —remembering all I still have.

When I choose to find things for which to be thankful in the midst of what might otherwise be an emotionally charged moment, it calms me. As I said before, refusing to come unglued is the only way to prove to ourselves it is possible to have a different kind of reaction. How might you refuse the pull of coming unglued today?