Finding the Lost

The other day I suffered one of the ultimate teenage humiliations. I was digging through the trash looking for my lost retainer. 

I’ve worn a retainer since I had my braces removed back in June as part of my dental repair work after my bike accident in 2019. I’m usually pretty good about putting my retainer in its case each time I take it out—I don’t like the thought of it being unprotected where it might pick up germs or come in contact with who knows what, and, oddly, the rest of the family are generally grossed out by finding it just sitting around the house (yes, this was discovered by trial and error). But there are times when there’s some food sitting out that I just want to snitch quickly and I still find myself pulling out my retainer “just for a moment.”

This particular time, I was up early making pancakes for the family. I decided to add chocolate chips, and, of course, I needed to make sure the chocolate chips were still good. I pulled out the retainer to try a few, and then must have set the retainer down as the pancakes needed immediate attention. I got caught up in the pancake production process and didn’t think to find my retainer again until mid-afternoon. By that time I had no idea where I had put it, though I had a vague sense that when I had put it down, I had thought to myself, “Now remember where you’re putting this…”

I searched through the whole house no less than three times. I checked all the pockets on my clothes—twice. I even went through all the papers on my desk in the basement—just in case—even though this is a monumental undertaking and I was pretty sure there wasn’t any way it might be there. I knew it was in the house because I could remember having it in when I woke up in the morning. But I couldn’t for the life of me find it. That’s when I decided I better sort through the trash.

I took the trash from the kitchen and poured it out in the driveway. This wouldn’t have been so bad had it not been freezing at the time or I had bothered to put a coat on. Or I hadn’t emptied the vacuum cleaner into the trash earlier that day. But I sorted through all of the trash to no avail—still no retainer. I went back inside and worried that the dog must have found it somehow and chewed it to smithereens. I began preparing myself for the embarrassing call to the orthodontist that I had lost my retainer.

It wasn’t until the next morning that our daughter Emma found it. She picked up some papers from the counter in the kitchen (papers from the stack that we keep telling our kids not to look through) and there it was—right underneath them. The pile must have been bumped soon after I set down my retainer and the top pieces slid over top of the retainer blocking it from view. This was, actually, the first place I had looked for it. I had checked this place no less than four times. I had moved the papers around in my search and checked under the edges of them. But I had never picked them all the way up. I didn’t know whether to be extraordinary glad that the retainer had been found or extremely perturbed that all along it had been in the first place I had looked and I should have found it right away.

But I did feel extreme relief. Relief that my search was over. Relief that I wouldn’t need to be calling the orthodontist that day. Relief that I wouldn’t need to be sitting for another mold of my mouth to be taken and I wouldn’t be paying for a replacement when I knew that my retainer had to be around here somewhere. And I felt euphoria. I was so excited when the retainer was found. I swooped over and picked Emma up in a big bear hug. I went flying around the house jumping up and down, whooping and hollering. I picked up our dog and did a crazy jig.

I’ve lost things before. I’ve had a hard time finding them and done a whole house search for them before. But this was different. This was something that would have been hard to replace—something I couldn’t just order a replacement for online. This was something that was a part of me somehow. And my relief and joy in finding it—while admittedly, solely for my retainer—were unlike much else I had experienced in searching for something that was lost.

I don’t know how many times in my life I’ve read the parable of the woman and the lost coin in Luke 15. I don’t know how many times I’ve read about her losing one coin out of ten, searching all through the house trying to find it. And I don’t know how many times I’ve thought about the celebration she had once she found the lost coin. I do know, though, that I’ve thought to myself that it was just a lost coin—and while coins certainly would have been treasured in Jesus’ day, how excited can one get about finding one?

Now, after my own celebration in finding my retainer, I read that parable differently. I have a greater appreciation for the lengths God will go to find the lost sinner. For the sense of desperation that’s involved in the search. For the pure joy and euphoria that is involved when what is lost is suddenly found. I have a greater sense of the depth of God’s love for each one of us—whether we’re the first coin or the tenth. Whether we’re the sheep that always is right where it’s supposed to be or the sheep that is seemingly always wandering off and getting into trouble.

If I got this excited about a lost retainer that was found, how much more excited would God get over a lost human being who was found? I’ve thankfully never had a serious incident of one of my loved ones being lost. I lost Emma briefly at JC Penney once when she was three years old…and there was a sudden sense of panic…my stomach dropped and instantly I was desperate. I had been looking at some clothes, she had been right beside me, but then I looked up and she was nowhere to be seen. I looked down all of the aisles, and didn’t see her wandering around. I went one direction, then the other; I started yelling her name—softly at first and then louder and louder and more and more frantically. Turns out she was in the middle of a circular rack of coats, about ten feet from me. Relief swept over me, but I didn’t celebrate the way I really wanted to because I didn’t want anyone to know I had lost my daughter in the Menswear department of JCPenney. But I can only imagine the joy and celebration God experiences when someone God loves so deeply that God is willing to die for him or her is suddenly found. I hope I can learn to love others this same way. I hope I can experience this same joy.

I wish I could say I’ve taken perfect care of my retainer since that fateful day I lost it. But alas, less than two hours after I found it I had lost it again. I grumbled against God—telling God thanks, but I’d already learned that lesson and I didn’t need to learn it again. This time I even knew I had carefully placed it in my retainer case and set it in its spot by the cabinets. I checked the case three times by picking it up and shaking it—it makes a distinctive rattle if the retainer is inside. And each time it was silent when I shook it. I was distraught—until Peter actually opened the case and discovered that the retainer was indeed inside. It had simply been caught in the edge of the case so it did not rattle when shook. I was again grateful it was found—just as, I suppose, God is grateful each time we are found when we wander off.

Now if I could just find that missing flashdrive…