Lost rock.

Monday morning I was curled up at my desk, and glanced down at my hand.

My heart stopped.

My diamond. Gone. What?

My mind started racing to where it could be. The morning before at church, I remembered spinning my ring around my finger while our preacher was challenging us. The diamonds were there.

But since then? Oh Lord help me.

I’d been picking pumpkins in a 3 acre pumpkin patch. I’d been all over the house, the farm, in with the calves and the lambs, the goats.

I’d gotten up and run 5 miles around town and been back to work around the house.

It was hopeless. There was no way I’d find it. Feeling that weight, I closed my eyes and I prayed.

And instantly felt foolish. And guilty.

Who am I to pray over a lost rock?

Here I am, sitting in almost new house on a farm we’re blessed to call ours. My family is healthy, our crops are good, I get paid to do work that I love. Our bellies are full, our bodies are clothed.

And I have the audacity to ask God to be concerned with my diamond?

There’s a global pandemic. An election. Injustices. Cancer. Hunger. Slavery.

And I bothered Him with my diamond.

Now granted, it’s not just any diamond. It’s the diamond that the man of my dreams spent an entire summer stashing cash away in a safe to be able to buy. A rock he gave me when we were to young and dumb to have anything figured out beyond the fact we loved each other. It’s the rock that sits on the ring I’ve only taken off three times since he gave to me: once when it was getting attached to my wedding band, twice when I swelled up from carrying his children so much that it wouldn’t fit.

But still. It’s a rock.

And God has bigger problems to be concerned with than a rock.

I text Matt. I made a note to call the insurance agent. I cried. Then I got up to get some more coffee. I’d have to worry about it later.

On my way upstairs I swung into my bedroom to grab a notebook. On the way back out I noticed I’d left the lamp on, so I went to switch it off and a small glisten on the floor caught my eye.

There, deep in the carpet, was my diamond.

God.

I laughed at myself. Thinking this was too small of a problem for Him. Thinking that he couldn’t balance carrying the weight of the world with also helping me find my diamond. Thinking that he didn’t have time.

That’s not God.

That’s me, projecting my human inadequacy onto God.

“But in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.” Philippians 4:6

Every situation. Even a lost diamond.