The missing keys
On a recent day, I sallied forth beneath a lowering sky, eager to dash to the library. Grabbing my stylish, black bag and my keys, I shouted over my shoulder, “Hey, bud. I need you to move your car.” This, to the local teenager.
I waited impatiently. When he did not appear, I gave a quick, insistent toot on the horn, and then a second one. Seasons came and went, three election cycles passed, and finally he appeared. “I can’t find my keys.”
Exasperated, I hopped out and began the interrogation. “Where all did you go? When was the last time you had them in your hand? Where could you have laid them down?” And so on and so forth in the fine tradition of mothers everywhere.
Of note, the males in our household have been prone to sharp swings in their visual acuity. Mr. Schrock, devout IU basketball fan, could call a foul from the other end of the house, but finding the remote he just had in his hand? A mystery, right up there with who killed Jimmy Hoffa.
Take, too, his sons, who could spot a Ding-Dong at 120 yards, roughly the length of a football field. Throw them into the vegetable patch with instructions to weed it, and they’d suddenly go legally blind. It was inexplicable, yet there we were.
But back, now, to the missing keys. After retracing his every step multiple times, we paused the search-and-rescue. Using a different vehicle, I ran to the library. When I returned, those darn keys were still missing. Desperate, I finally did what I’ve learned to do. I knelt in my kitchen and whispered a fervent plea, “Take us to the keys, or bring those keys to us. You know where they are.”
“I need to check the rocks.” That’s what came to me.
Seeing that my husband had headed back out to search once more, I followed along behind him, eyes cast to the ground in case College Kid had dropped them somewhere outside. Approaching the outdoor building, I looked to the left, and there they were in plain sight, splayed upon the rocks. With much rejoicing, the CK received the keys and a gentle parental lecture with flip charts and pie graphs on the importance of putting things in the same place every time. This, with the fatherly reminder that, “I told you to get a spare.”
Ever since, I’ve been thinking about the lost keys and the lessons they carry. First, we had passed that way multiple times in pursuit of them. We simply hadn’t cast our eyes in that direction. Those keys were waiting to be found, and on the final walk by, they were.
Second, our son had ignored his father’s warning, not with ill intent, of course. He’d gotten busy, and with the insouciance of the young, he’d forgotten it.
Third, losing the keys meant that his car could not be driven. For a young man making daily trips to campus, a stalled car was a giant hindrance to his education. Also, the snappy, red vehicle could not take him to meet with friends. Suddenly, those keys were important.
Fourth, there’s nothing too small to pray about. I know that for sure. The suggestion that came to my mind in response to a prayer was from above. I know that, too.
Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, there are many who feel they have lost a different set of keys, that being the keys to happiness and peace. If this is you, chances are good that you’ve walked right by them countless times, and you simply missed them. Perhaps, like my son, you’ve been told about them, and, in your own insouciance, you forgot them.
For me, these keys are labeled faith, hope, and love. Without them, my life would be stalled, exactly like the snappy, red car that sat idle for a time on a recent day.
It is the key of faith that starts the engine. I don’t have to know how the motor works. I need just enough faith that it does work to insert the key and turn it. Prayer, for me, is that key.
Using the key of hope, I access all of the patience and endurance I need, as well as the strength to navigate this life. Hope keeps me afloat on my own stormy seas, and I know I’ll reach the opposite shore one day.
The key of love is connected to an endless supply of divine Love. That is a river that can never run dry, and as it fills me, I have love to give to other people. This love makes me a conduit, not a reservoir that can stagnate and sour.
Faith, hope, and love are the keys that unlock a life of purpose, peace, and, yes, even happiness. When we learn to live for others, resting our weight on someone greater than ourselves, holding tight to hope, we find life to be full of purpose and meaning. Through it all, it is by the power of prayer that we receive the help we need to reach the other side. Godspeed to all my fellow travelers.