Lost Diary

For much of October, I had misplaced my diary.

Some of you may wonder that anyone organised enough to have such a tome is not so organised that he can look after it. Alternatively, that someone enjoying even moderate ICT skills should still rely on a bound sheets of paper to run his life. Wonder away. 

I searched the house. I emptied drawers. I scanned each room, even ones I hadn’t been in. I frisked every suit jacket and coat in the wardrobe. I went through the contents of a wheelie bin. I phoned up my hotel in Grange. I contacted Blackburn Magistrates’ Court. I asked the deacons, and searched behind forms and pews lest it had slipped out unawares. Nothing. 

After four weeks of looking (and praying), I finally gave up, saying aloud in my bedroom to the Lord that I would just have to live without it, accepting its loss as a salient reminder of my foolishness. Within ten seconds, I found it. It was in the middle of the dining room floor, underneath a leather footstool. I had literally placed my head next to it as I searched beneath the neighbouring coffee table. A red diary on a red rug is camouflaged, yet I did marvel that it took me so long to see it. It was only after I accepted its loss that it was restored to me. A part of me considered throwing it away for good measure. 

The Lord gives us good things here on the earth. I’m no advocate of prosperity, but the truth is that God often confers excess wealth on his people. I suspect that anything we have which we are prepared to lose, the Lord allows us to keep; anything we refuse to yield He will remove. The sanctified soul rejoices in material wealth, knowing it is on loan and can be taken at any time. The carnal soul grasps, keeps, retains and guards. From this iron-grip does the Lord release our idols, so that with empty hands we return to Him, the source of all joy and security. 

Image by Steve Buissinne from Pixabay