I panicked.
Over remaining 10 minutes of the ride, my verbal skills
deteriorated rapidly. “Oh my word. Oh my
word.
I can’t BELIEVE this. Where could it be?! Oh my word. Oh. My. Word!”
(And so on, and so forth forth)
I’d been to four places that day, and the chances of finding
my treasure at any one of them was slim to none:
1.
The toy-laden church nursery, where I’d been on
morning duty with 12 active babies and toddlers.
2.
Walmart.
3.
My carpet wonderland of a home.
4.
My parents’ house, along with 15 other relatives
— several of them clutter creating younglings.
I searched my pockets, scoured my van and then made some
calls, including the dreaded one to the purchaser of that diamond. A few of us
crawled on our hands and knees around the nursery. Mom offered cash prizes to
the army of children in her living room. Nothing.
I resigned myself to the fact that my diamond was likely
lost forever. Considering the expense of replacing it, I figured I’d either be
ringless or rocking a dime store knock-off for quite some time.
In the midst of the whole ordeal, I thought about praying for
help in finding my precious stone. But really, I felt kind of silly about doing
so.
Heaven knows, I’m the queen of losing things, and I felt
like I’d called on that godly favor far too many times before. Plus, my mind immediately went to the recent
tornado victims. And the typhoon survivors. And the impoverished around the
world. In comparison, this was NOTHING.
I didn’t want to make a mountain out of a rock.
Returning to the church for my passengers, I crossed paths
with Pastor Bekah.
“God knows where your diamond is,” she said.
“Yeah, I know,” was all I could think to say.
Just as the kids came bounding down the stairs, I reached
into my right pocket — not my left — and felt something slightly bigger than a
cookie crumb. My diamond! How in the
world did it get in there?!
Overhearing my exclamations of joy, Angela, the children’s
choir director, leaned over to Emma:
“It’s a good thing you asked all the kids to pray for your mom.”
Wow.
As we were driving home that evening, I said Emma. “You know, I
really do think God put that diamond in my pocket. Thank you for praying for me.”
Taken by the beauty of the clear night sky, I pondered, “Isn’t it interesting that the God of the
universe, the one who puts the stars in the sky, who created all the animals,
and keeps everything in order, still cares about the little things in our
lives?”
“Yeah,” she answered. “That was a little thing.”
After a few moments of silence, she continued, “Sometimes
you pray for things that are small, and He doesn’t give them to you. But God
knew that it was really important to you, so He answered.”
Indeed. God always
gives us what we need.
Perhaps in her early faith journey, Emma needed this
tangible answer to prayer.
I, on the other hand, just needed some good ol’
seven-year-old wisdom.
