Sadly, sometimes, yes. Yesterday was one of those times. As I sat down to fail at writing my thesis for the I-don't-know-how-many-eth time, my spirit dragged. Really? It's actually going to be this hard? Bah. So, I moped my sorry can out to my car having stroked a mere three sentences in two hours. Tears began to threaten the cheeks as I cruised back down 900 East.
Some time later, while chatting with my mom, it dawned on me that I had been horrifically careless about my rings 3 hours earlier when I needed lotion during ward prayer. I'm particularly attached to one of them, so, naturally, my readily-surfaced emotions kicked in, causing my voice to quiver.
Moms always know when there is something wrong, but, for some odd reason, I always try to hide it anyway. I should know better than that...Dispirited Karen is a wuss. I felt like a 6 year old as I allowed her reassuring words of the increased likelihood of finding it tomorrow (when I might not be so riled) to flow in one ear and directly out the other. I continued to ransack my closet three times over, knowing I'd left the ring unceremoniously stuffed into the pocket of my now-hung-upside-down jeans...to no avail. I'd had it. The energy being spent on keeping the flood-gates in tact pittered out, and the tears prevailed. Sensing that I couldn't really be consoled, she offered what should have been an obvious choice: pray for help in finding it.
Friends, I'm here to testify that He is there, tirelessly waiting for you and I to turn around and greet Him. What happened next can only be done justice in very precise form:
- I scanned the closet floor one more hopeless time to be sure I hadn't missed anything.
- I turned and walked out of the closet.
- I said to my mother, "You're right, I should pray about it."
- I turned back around and blinked repeatedly as I stared at the ring on the floor of the closet, EXACTLY where I'd been looking not 3 seconds earlier.