In Pursuit of Cold, Hard Truth
I'm not sure how to write about this. In a lot of ways, this will be the most personal thing I've written on here in a long time. But at the same time, it's really not personal at all. It's a pretty common thing that a lot of people have had to deal with in a lot of different ways. But it revealed some things about myself that I hadn't confronted in a while.
That's too cryptic. Look, the situation was this: I lost some money last week.
Here's how it happened.
On Tuesday, I was given cash by a friend for some work I'd done for them. This is always nice. It's supplemental income, nothing I count on, but a good bonus. I used some of it to pay another friend for work they'd done for me. I put the rest in my pocket.
Or on my desk.
Or in a drawer.
I didn't really think about it again until I was on my way home from work. It takes about a minute and a half to walk from the office to my apartment. I pretty much always use the same route. That day, I was carrying my usual stuff (phone, iPad, water bottle) and a bag of fabric and a dress. On the way, I remember thinking that I needed to put the cash in my box. (I have a saving system kind of like Dave Ramsay's envelopes, except nothing at all like it.)
Naturally, as is the way of things, I didn't think about it once I stepped through the door of my apartment. I had to try on the dress, plug electronics in, start dinner, get ready for exercise class - all the little things you do when there's a lot on your mind and you just go through the routine of life. Tuesday was already a bad day, and I just wanted to forget about stuff for a bit.
You're probably wondering why there's so much detail. Well, for the next five days, I agonized over every move I made on Tuesday. I worked it over in my mind, questioning everything I thought I remembered.
See, on Wednesday, I happened to think about that money. I couldn't remember putting it in my box, and I figured I should probably do that before I lost it. (Ha.) So I checked the key tray where I deposit stuff when I get home every day.
No cash.
I checked the couch, which is another depository.
No cash.
Piano keyboard. (Because who actually plays it when it functions much better as yet another shelf?)
No cash.
Well, duh, I obviously left it in the pockets of the pants I was wearing Tuesday.
No cash.
No, seriously, check again.
No cash.
Well, did I really put it in my pocket? I could have put it in my desk at work after paying my friend.
No cash.
At this point, it was raining, I was wet, and I was irritable. Could I have dropped it on my way home? No way to check in the dark and rain, and besides, it had already been a full day. Maybe I dropped it outside my apartment?
And here's where the story gets a little weird, because when I went to ask my neighbors about it, I found myself oddly reluctant to tell anyone I had lost this money. I felt I couldn't say anything to the whole building because the person who had given it to me also lived there. What would she say when she found out I lost the money she had given me for helping her? Is she going to question my stewardship abilities? My cleaning habits?
So I limited it to my immediate neighbors. But I couldn't let them know that I was really worried about this. That it was a huge issue involving a not-inconsiderable amount of money. So I kept my email light and airy. Just a vague inquiry.
And then I agonized about telling my family. We tell each other pretty much everything, but I was concerned about how it would come across. Are they going to think I'm asking them to send money to cover the loss? Am I actually telling them in the hope that they do that? What is my motivation in passing along this news?
You might be thinking that these are weird questions to ask. But for me, they make all the sense in the world. See, when I was younger, I was pretty manipulative. Nothing malicious (mostly), but I knew there were certain things I could do or say or imply that would bring about a result in my favor. And I struggled with this for a long time.
See, manipulation is a lot like lying. And it can get so deep and twisted that you start to believe your own manipulations are truth. I'm ashamed to say that I did this to my mom most often. We had a weird dynamic when I was younger, and manipulation would almost always work for reasons I won't get into.
I stopped the manipulation somewhere during high school. I was growing in my faith, and I knew that it was neither right nor healthy to keep doing this. I apologized to my mom, and we're better than we've ever been before.
But the impulse is still there. To imply that things are worse than they are in order to get more sympathy. To mention a missed opportunity in order to garner an invitation to an event. To moan about losing something in order to get a gift of said item.
I can usually ignore the impulse. But I always have to question my motives when I talk about certain things. I have to say no to things I want because it feels too much like a manipulation to get them. I had to learn how to ask for things I needed directly, and I had to learn how to take no as an answer.
Isn't it interesting how life lessons come in all shapes and sizes?
I ended up telling my sister on Wednesday. I felt I needed to tell someone, and she was most likely to offer what I really needed (empathy, prayer) instead of what I wanted (a bailout, pity party).
All week, I thought about the missing money. I looked for it on the sidewalks, in the grass, I checked my pockets fifteen more times. I deep-cleaned my apartment on Saturday thinking it had fallen in a crack somewhere.
No cash.
By this time, I was pretty resigned to having lost it for good. And I had to confront another issue: if I pray about this, what am I actually praying for? If I pray to find it and do, is this proof prayer works like a magical vending machine? What do I learn if I get what I want just by praying about it? If I pray to find it and don't, is it proof that prayer doesn't actually work at all? What good is prayer if you can't use it on the small stuff? If I don't pray about it at all, do I not have faith that God can move anthills as well as mountains?
Hope, as it turns out, is pretty hard to kill. Even as I was praying that the money would be a blessing to the person who'd found it, I was still hoping that that person would be me. I thought maybe it ended up in the lost and found, even though I wasn't sure we even had one. I didn't want to put out a company-wide notice for fear of sounding pathetic and inviting comment I didn't need or want. But I did stop by the building across from mine and asked if anyone had happened to find a 'small' sum of cash.
Finally, Saturday evening, with my apartment clean and all possible hiding places thoroughly searched, I concluded that the money was truly gone. I wasn't going to think about it any longer.
I did tell my mom about it, though. I was straightforward. I told her I was disappointed, but that I had accepted that it was gone. I had no expectations for anything but sympathy and an admonishment to keep an eye on things a little better next time. You know what she said?
"I'm going to pray that you find it."
Like it was just that simple. Like I hadn't been agonizing over whether missing money was something I should be praying about. Like I hadn't been questioning my own motivations and desires.
"You need this money. And I believe God will do this for you."
What do you say to that? 'Sorry, no, I've already decided this is not something to be selfish about. I'm going to accept the lesson and move on. Thanks anyway.'
No. My mother said she believed. And I wasn't going to stand in her way.
Sunday morning, there were doubts. But the sermon was about hope. The pastor said something that suddenly struck me right where I needed it.
(To paraphrase) "After the stock market crash in 1929; after the bombing of Pearl Harbor; after the Vietnam War, the Watergate scandal, the Cold War, 9/11, and after November 8 - God was and always will be on the throne. He has never not been in control. And we know that hope in him is never in vain."
Sure, it was about politics, but I can take a hint. All right, God. I get it. You're in control. Whatever happens.
Sunday night, I did laundry. As I pulled clothes from the washer to go into the dryer, I noticed something plastered to the wall of the machine.
Yep. You guessed it.
I had laundered my money.
First thing I did was talk to God. "Okay. You win. I was wrong. You were right. Thank you."
Then I called my mom.
"Didn't I tell you?" she said. "I knew you'd find it."
That's too cryptic. Look, the situation was this: I lost some money last week.
Here's how it happened.
On Tuesday, I was given cash by a friend for some work I'd done for them. This is always nice. It's supplemental income, nothing I count on, but a good bonus. I used some of it to pay another friend for work they'd done for me. I put the rest in my pocket.
Or on my desk.
Or in a drawer.
I didn't really think about it again until I was on my way home from work. It takes about a minute and a half to walk from the office to my apartment. I pretty much always use the same route. That day, I was carrying my usual stuff (phone, iPad, water bottle) and a bag of fabric and a dress. On the way, I remember thinking that I needed to put the cash in my box. (I have a saving system kind of like Dave Ramsay's envelopes, except nothing at all like it.)
Naturally, as is the way of things, I didn't think about it once I stepped through the door of my apartment. I had to try on the dress, plug electronics in, start dinner, get ready for exercise class - all the little things you do when there's a lot on your mind and you just go through the routine of life. Tuesday was already a bad day, and I just wanted to forget about stuff for a bit.
You're probably wondering why there's so much detail. Well, for the next five days, I agonized over every move I made on Tuesday. I worked it over in my mind, questioning everything I thought I remembered.
See, on Wednesday, I happened to think about that money. I couldn't remember putting it in my box, and I figured I should probably do that before I lost it. (Ha.) So I checked the key tray where I deposit stuff when I get home every day.
No cash.
I checked the couch, which is another depository.
No cash.
Piano keyboard. (Because who actually plays it when it functions much better as yet another shelf?)
No cash.
Well, duh, I obviously left it in the pockets of the pants I was wearing Tuesday.
No cash.
No, seriously, check again.
No cash.
Well, did I really put it in my pocket? I could have put it in my desk at work after paying my friend.
No cash.
At this point, it was raining, I was wet, and I was irritable. Could I have dropped it on my way home? No way to check in the dark and rain, and besides, it had already been a full day. Maybe I dropped it outside my apartment?
And here's where the story gets a little weird, because when I went to ask my neighbors about it, I found myself oddly reluctant to tell anyone I had lost this money. I felt I couldn't say anything to the whole building because the person who had given it to me also lived there. What would she say when she found out I lost the money she had given me for helping her? Is she going to question my stewardship abilities? My cleaning habits?
So I limited it to my immediate neighbors. But I couldn't let them know that I was really worried about this. That it was a huge issue involving a not-inconsiderable amount of money. So I kept my email light and airy. Just a vague inquiry.
And then I agonized about telling my family. We tell each other pretty much everything, but I was concerned about how it would come across. Are they going to think I'm asking them to send money to cover the loss? Am I actually telling them in the hope that they do that? What is my motivation in passing along this news?
You might be thinking that these are weird questions to ask. But for me, they make all the sense in the world. See, when I was younger, I was pretty manipulative. Nothing malicious (mostly), but I knew there were certain things I could do or say or imply that would bring about a result in my favor. And I struggled with this for a long time.
See, manipulation is a lot like lying. And it can get so deep and twisted that you start to believe your own manipulations are truth. I'm ashamed to say that I did this to my mom most often. We had a weird dynamic when I was younger, and manipulation would almost always work for reasons I won't get into.
I stopped the manipulation somewhere during high school. I was growing in my faith, and I knew that it was neither right nor healthy to keep doing this. I apologized to my mom, and we're better than we've ever been before.
But the impulse is still there. To imply that things are worse than they are in order to get more sympathy. To mention a missed opportunity in order to garner an invitation to an event. To moan about losing something in order to get a gift of said item.
I can usually ignore the impulse. But I always have to question my motives when I talk about certain things. I have to say no to things I want because it feels too much like a manipulation to get them. I had to learn how to ask for things I needed directly, and I had to learn how to take no as an answer.
Isn't it interesting how life lessons come in all shapes and sizes?
I ended up telling my sister on Wednesday. I felt I needed to tell someone, and she was most likely to offer what I really needed (empathy, prayer) instead of what I wanted (a bailout, pity party).
All week, I thought about the missing money. I looked for it on the sidewalks, in the grass, I checked my pockets fifteen more times. I deep-cleaned my apartment on Saturday thinking it had fallen in a crack somewhere.
No cash.
By this time, I was pretty resigned to having lost it for good. And I had to confront another issue: if I pray about this, what am I actually praying for? If I pray to find it and do, is this proof prayer works like a magical vending machine? What do I learn if I get what I want just by praying about it? If I pray to find it and don't, is it proof that prayer doesn't actually work at all? What good is prayer if you can't use it on the small stuff? If I don't pray about it at all, do I not have faith that God can move anthills as well as mountains?
Hope, as it turns out, is pretty hard to kill. Even as I was praying that the money would be a blessing to the person who'd found it, I was still hoping that that person would be me. I thought maybe it ended up in the lost and found, even though I wasn't sure we even had one. I didn't want to put out a company-wide notice for fear of sounding pathetic and inviting comment I didn't need or want. But I did stop by the building across from mine and asked if anyone had happened to find a 'small' sum of cash.
Finally, Saturday evening, with my apartment clean and all possible hiding places thoroughly searched, I concluded that the money was truly gone. I wasn't going to think about it any longer.
I did tell my mom about it, though. I was straightforward. I told her I was disappointed, but that I had accepted that it was gone. I had no expectations for anything but sympathy and an admonishment to keep an eye on things a little better next time. You know what she said?
"I'm going to pray that you find it."
Like it was just that simple. Like I hadn't been agonizing over whether missing money was something I should be praying about. Like I hadn't been questioning my own motivations and desires.
"You need this money. And I believe God will do this for you."
What do you say to that? 'Sorry, no, I've already decided this is not something to be selfish about. I'm going to accept the lesson and move on. Thanks anyway.'
No. My mother said she believed. And I wasn't going to stand in her way.
Sunday morning, there were doubts. But the sermon was about hope. The pastor said something that suddenly struck me right where I needed it.
(To paraphrase) "After the stock market crash in 1929; after the bombing of Pearl Harbor; after the Vietnam War, the Watergate scandal, the Cold War, 9/11, and after November 8 - God was and always will be on the throne. He has never not been in control. And we know that hope in him is never in vain."
Sure, it was about politics, but I can take a hint. All right, God. I get it. You're in control. Whatever happens.
Sunday night, I did laundry. As I pulled clothes from the washer to go into the dryer, I noticed something plastered to the wall of the machine.
Yep. You guessed it.
I had laundered my money.
First thing I did was talk to God. "Okay. You win. I was wrong. You were right. Thank you."
Then I called my mom.
"Didn't I tell you?" she said. "I knew you'd find it."