Lost Enough, Part II

Last night, I got angry.
I am not an angry person by nature, but if there is one thing that arouses my ire, it is a circumstance in which I lose something – physically misplace it – and have to go to what seems like the ends of the earth in my search. And what happens in the process is that all the subliminal stuff that has been bothering me suddenly bubbles to the surface. It’s like my poli-sci teacher in community college used to say (among other things): “when the pot boils, the scum rises to the top.”
So last night, I was pretty scummy.
I was trying to locate my brand-new digital camera, my graduation present from my parents. I had been keeping it in my closet, since that’s my only real storage for such little things, but when I looked, it was not in any of its usual locations. Concern rose to fear when I started tearing through my entire wardrobe (most of my sweaters, etc. are folded and I thought it could be in there somewhere). Fear gave way to a sense of helplessness and mild terror. In my head I kept telling myself, “Leeann, it’s just a thing – it’s a physical thing. It can always be replaced. At least your townhouse isn’t flooded to the second-story ceiling like some folks’ are right now.” But I kept musing to myself about how careless, thoughtless, and irresponsible I was – and I was angry at myself for my foolishness. Losing the camera felt like icing on the cake for a lot of other cares weighing on my mind, situations in which I feel completely incapable of doing anything. Or if I am capable of something, I am only capable of messing it up. I told Sarah at one point, when I was curled up in my closet, that I couldn’t do anything right. Faithful Sarah, ever the optimist to inspire my optimism, assured me that it couldn’t be far away and we would find it.
About a half hour later, after looking under furniture and though clothes and downstairs closets, no trace of the camera was found. I despaired, dreading telling my parents about the experience because I knew I had let them down by being so irresponsible with such a valued gift. The one thing I had asked for as a graduation present, and something my Mom worked particularly hard to research. I know they would hardly be truly upset about it, but I was mad enough for the three of us. My inadequacy was no longer hidden in the recesses of my being; it was laid wide open for the world to see. The same transparency that couldn’t stop my face from reflecting inner turmoil now shed light on my imperfection. I had a giant sign on my forehead, and it read I AM NOT IN CONTROL.
Sarah continued to be very matter-of-fact about the whole thing. “Well, either someone picked it up accidentally or it’s in one of the cars.”
One of the cars. Right. Because I would leave a camera to jostle around on the floor of one of my roommate’s cars. And if someone visiting had accidentally picked up my camera, surely they would have realized the error by now.
I sat back and realized how utterly selfish I was being, allowing my circumstance to cloud my every perception to the point that it was impacting the lives of others. An entire metropolis is under water at the moment, families have lost everything, and here I am whining about a camera.
It’s all about perspective.
About this time, Sarah’s words jogged a vague recollection in my mind of having my camera in Allis’ car – I had no idea for what, or when it was – but I thought it was worth a shot.
So I went out, in my t-shirt and drunk penguin pajama pants (trust me: if you’d seen them you know what I was talking about), key in hand. I sat in the driver’s seat, reached over, and popped the glove box.
Therein was the camera.
I’ll admit it; there were tears in my eyes. The camera had been there the whole time, and all my sifting through my belongings hadn’t done a thing in the effort to find it. (Though it did make me reorganize and set a few things aside for donation.) It was hidden in an unlikely place, one I didn’t believe held the answer. And yet it did.
As I trudged back to my townhouse, camera in tow, I pondered a moment.
Okay, Lord. I’m guessing there is more to this than reminding me to keep a perspective of physical things and to curb my selfishness.
That would be correct.
What is it, then?
Only this, My child: in times when you feel lost, you would do well to listen to others. To Me and the people I put in your life. That is all.
‘Tis true. If I had written Sarah’s idea off completely, I wouldn’t have my camera right now. I didn’t believe her at first, but ultimately, recognizing the possibility led me to trust enough to even go out to the car.
Seeing parallels to other areas of life here. Very interesting.
So after all that, I turned on some music, and the Fernando Ortega version of “Lord of Eternity” (below) came on. And I reflected on how God brings me to these points, in different areas and at different times, all with His painstaking care… just to show me that sign on my forehead is right. I am not in control. But He gives me cause to rejoice over that fact and recognize what a privilege it is to be free of the cares of this world, to be a daughter of the King. I thank God for these feelings of lostness; it clears my mind of the delusion that I knew where I was going in the first place.
So here I am, Lord, lost enough to let myself be led. Let down Your mighty hand to take mine, and I will follow. Here we go.