THE CASE OF THE MISSING
A Tru e Story
by Ruby Richards
N o, G ram , no ! Don’t come in !” My seventeen-year-old grand with her arms outstretched dramat ically, literally barring my way. Sure ly this was the strangest “welcome home” from the office I had ever re ceived in my daughter’s house where I live with her, her husband, her three boys and two girls. “ Linda, what on earth is the mat ter?” was my not unreasonable in quiry that winter evening. “Oh, Gram!” wailed the pretty, brown-eyed girl. “ I’ve lost one of my contact lenses. I know it’s in the kitchen. So please don’t step on the floor. You’ll smash it!” “O.K., I’ll be careful,” I promised, gingerly stepping over the threshold and placing my purse, hat and gloves on a chair. “Now don’t worry, honey, we’ll find it. Get some Scotties out of that cupboard drawer, dampen them under the faucet, and hand them to me.” Wonderingly, Linda obeyed. Then I kicked off my shoes, dropped to my knees and began to wipe up the lino leum-covered, waxed floor, inch by inch. Never had that kitchen seemed so immense. Never had the floor been cleaned so meticulously. After wards we boasted that undoubtedly we had the most spotless and sani tary floor in town! My heart sank as I collected on the tissues dust and dirt particles, but no elusive bit of plastic. I understood only too well how much this loss meant to Linda. It was her first big sacrifice for something she wanted and her first important purchase on her own. Having worn regulation glasses from childhood, the new con tact lenses had been her dream. Long hours had been spent, giving lessons on piano and cello, in addition to baby-sitting, to earn the price of those tiny, but expensive new-type spectacles. When finally she was able
to purchase them with her own hard- earned funds, her delight had known no bounds. Of course, she had been thoroughly instructed not only in the use of them, but also in their care. She was warned that they could be dropped very easily. She was not ever to remove them at random while standing but always to be seated at a table or dresser with a soft cloth or towel in front of her. Apparently she had failed to do this, and the lens was lost before the in surance on them could be written. My heart went out to her in deep sympathy. “Where are the others?” I asked, as I slowly wiped the floor with the tissue paper. “Have they been look ing, too?” “Well, Mom, Jill and Mark are still at the music lesson. I told Bruce and Jonathan to stay out of the kitchen,” replied my granddaughter, despair ingly. Soon her mother arrived home and was informed of the disaster. Tak ing a dust mop in hand, she began to sweep the corners of the kitchen. The table, chairs, cupboards and even the sink were examined minutely. The waste-paper basket was upended and its contents searched. Still no contact! When Linda’s father arrived from business, he- lent a hand by moving all the heavy furniture—the refrig erator, the dishwasher, the ironer. Members of the family who did not actually join in the quest offered their comments, some of which were useful. Then a kind of desperate hush came over us as we scrutinized every nook and cranny of that kitch en. Still no contact! At last I re luctantly abandoned my tissue scrub bing, but not until I had covered every inch of that floor. We looked at each other in dejection. Linda was in tears. I said, “Well, we have tried everything but prayer!”
When I went to bed that night, there came to my mind the incident of the lost asses in the ninth chapter of First Samuel. I remembered that the prophet knew where to find them and that their recovery led to the anointing of a king. I thought, “ Not only does prayer change things; it can also find things.” So I prayed. Surely the Lord was more interested in a Christian girl’s sight than in the plight of straying animals! As the next day was Saturday, all members of the family were home for at least part of the day. All of us automatically looked for the missing contact. The practical, mechanically- minded father removed the kitchen register in order to examine the fur nace pipes which led downstairs. The boys recalled sadly how one of their baby hamsters had squeezed his way into those pipes, meeting an un timely death. My daughter had been using the electric ironer, so I rolled up the cord to put it away. On the side of the ironer is a pocket for holding the cord when it is not in use. For some reason I inserted my hand and to my surprise I brought up a peanut shell. Then with a kind of inexplicable in ner excitement, I put my hand into that holder again, and wonder of wonders! something adhered to the tip of my ring finger. For a moment I was silent in genuine thanks to God. For, sure enough, clinging to my finger tip was that wee, almost invisible, precious little lens! All the time we had been searching so fran tically, turning the kitchen upside down—for it was now the evening of the second day—the Lord had pre served the contact in a spot where it could not be harmed. Further, it was resting on a soft pile of fuzzy dust from the ironer which had even kept it from being scratched! I was alone in the kitchen at the time but not for long. At my joyful shout,
daughter stood at the kitchen door,
42
TH E K IN G 'S BUSINESS
Made with FlippingBook - Online Brochure Maker