Lost

 It was all so different than I had expected. 

There, on a rainy day in June, was a red, leather-bound photo album set in the neighborhood free library. The first few pages were worn, with the photos slipping out. I had expected to leaf through these photos and to be able to see the story of these people. I had expected the photos to explain the mysterious appearance of this album. 

Instead, the album is totally nondescript - not remarkable, or special in any way. I have been feeding and tending to my inner artist, so I hoped she would look at this album and a brilliant story would blossom out of her. Instead, she sat for two days staring at the album, and then reading her book. 

This is not how good stories begin. “I found a totally boring photo album and absolutely nothing happened. It was not magic, as I had previously hoped. It does not appear to contain any ghosts either.”

Yet, someone appears to have lost this album, and with it, the memories of these lives - however mundane. I wonder if they miss it. 

I lost a roll of film in Paris. I had five days in Paris in 1997. Nineteen and exploring the world, I snapped a precious roll of film. Photos of me in front of the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, all lost to the Universe of Lost Things. 

I lost my wedding ring and engagement ring and all of my jewelry from my first marriage. I had planned to throw them in a lake. The Universe interceded and someone stole them from me. Probably a roommate. The Universe of Lost Things seems to have thought those things should be exchanged for alcohol at a pawnshop somewhere. Either that or my Ex somehow took them back, which I somehow doubt. If he had thought to steal them, I am sure he would have, but I don’t think it crossed his mind. My roommate however, had a bad habit of taking things that were not his. For example, he helped himself to the groceries in the fridge and freezer. Jamie still talks about coming home and finding him in our doorway holding a frozen pizza. Another time he took an entire bowl of pasta from the fridge, apparently not at all worried I would miss the bowl, or the meal. I did miss them, but did not miss the jewelry until it was long, long gone.

I lost my Faith. It seems to have fallen out of my pocket one day while kneeling in Church. 

I feel lately I have lost Hope.

Krista Tippett says, “What we practice, we become.” Yesterday, I set out to write about Hope. I failed utterly. I wrote about loss of Hope - Hopelessness. I sat back down today determined.

Hope. I am practicing Hope. Today it feels like a heavy lift. 

I hope tomorrow it is a little easier.