Lost

I seem to have developed in recent months a proclivity for losing things. I say developed not because losing things is a new thing in my life but that it seems to have become a chronic issue. It is astonishing.

For example, I picked up a devotional book last night that I’d forgotten I had with me; so many of our possessions are “on the boat” right now. That is, they are on a sea shipment we arranged to bring the things we could not bring on the plane with us. Much of what lies “on the boat” is our books, so I was pleased to come across this little treasure of daily devotions. I’d forgotten that, because of its size, I’d packed it in my suitcase.

I found it last night, but this morning it is gone again. I put it somewhere, no doubt somewhere safe, where I could easily find it for my morning devotions. But, it’s gone, seemingly vaporized.

Most of the time my mind is a jumble of thoughts bouncing around like the ping pong balls in a lottery machine; it’s anyone’s guess about which thought will find verbal expression from moment to moment. And, when I find something like my book I add it to the bouncing melee in my head. But, all it takes is a momentary lapse of concentration and the item is placed somewhere and lost, at least from my conscious mind. Some things are lost only briefly and I hope my devotional book is in that category. But, other items vanish for months at a time, utterly mysterious.

The problem has become chronic in recent months due to the transient nature of our present existence. We are waiting to sink roots in the place God has called us to. And, while His call to this particular place has become quite certain in my heart and mind, it is only a temporary assignment, a weigh station preceding the main event. The result is that I don’t have a singular place to dump things. I was a gifted loser of things prior to the now, but when I have a filing system, or in my case a piling system, there is a number one place where an item is likely to be hiding.

Lisa is generally my greatest ally in the hunt to find missing items. She seems to have a better conscious awareness of her surroundings and often surprises me by knowing where things are, especially my things.

“Have you looked in the drawer? I think I saw it there this morning.” There it is, in the drawer.

“Didn’t you put that in the closet?” I did.

“I put that on the shelf, next to your other papers.” Sure enough, there it is.

But, I have often worn her patience thin with constant badgering, like a child waiting for Christmas.

And, for the last four months she has suffered the same malady. I’ve never seen her hunt so much for things. But, it’s not surprising. Our move to Scotland is her third in as many months. Even her usual sense of order has been deeply unsettled.

When I share my issues with people they always take comfort, convinced their own problem is due to their advancing age. I assure them it has nothing to do with age, unless you consider my own forty years aged.

The problem does seem to be getting worse though, to the point of being disturbing to me and an endless source of frustration.

I don’t expect the problem to go away when we finally settle down. Maybe I can just reduce the number of potential “hidey holes”. In the meantime I’d be happy just to find my book.

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