My Desperate Search and God’s Answer to a Silly Prayer

Sears Vacuum CleanerThe long attachment to my vacuum cleaner is missing. I feel ridiculous mentioning this because it is here somewhere.

I distinctly remember placing it in a corner, out-of-the-way, in a place where I could easily find it again. But I can’t find it anywhere.

My house is just under 1200 square feet, with a finished basement that is empty. I only go down there to wash clothes and replace the furnace filter, so I know it’s not down there.

The spare room was emptied and completely cleaned before I moved my bedroom furniture into it. The bedroom I was using is now empty. If the attachment was in either of these rooms, it would be easy to spot.

My living room looks like the beginning of a hoarder’s obsession, with all the extra stuff from both bedrooms, piled up everywhere. The plan is to clean my old room and put back only the possessions I plan to keep. So, I check corners, under cabinets, between boxes and chairs, and it’s nowhere.

It’s really starting to make me crazy! I’ve been looking for the last week, and I’ve looked everywhere I can possibly think to look.

Today I’m feeling particularly discouraged. My water heater died, and my feeble attempts to light the pilot light were a failure.

In my desperation and frustration I said, “Lord, PLEASE show me where it is!”

“I’m losing mind, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE help me.”

I have learned a long time ago not to make deals with God. Instead, I rant, rave, beg and whine with all the fervor of a child about to throw a tantrum.

Then I took a deep breath and decided to retrace my cleaning steps, for possibly the twentieth time since I started looking. Okay, my bedroom is the first place I go. It’s not in the corners or the closet.

“Look under the bed,” is the thought that pops to mind.

Seriously? It’s not going be that easy. I don’t want to waste time looking, so I turn around to leave my room.


“Okay, I’ll check but I’m not going to find it,” I think to myself.

I get down on my hands and knees, lift the bed skirt, and there it is under my bed. I stay there for a minute in disbelief. This is not where I distinctly remember putting it because I distinctly remember propping it up in a corner.

I leave my bedroom puzzled about my memory but grateful to finally find it.

Wow! Did God just answer my prayer? Within two minutes of my near hysterical plea, it showed up. This isn’t a coincidence, is it?. The timing was simply too perfect.

I smile to myself and prop the attachment in a hallway corner.

Thank you Lord for answering my desperate, psychotic prayer.

Writing 101, Day Four – On Losing my Mind


Have you seen the latest Canadian Tire commercial? A couple is standing on their front porch, waving at a neighbour, and looking puzzled because they can’t remember the neighbour’s name.

That Canadian Tire commercial, is the story of my life, every day. It’s a side-effect of the depression I no longer battle. Apparently, your memory is the first to go, and the last to return. At this point, I wonder if my memory will ever recover.

To be honest, my mind has always had trouble remembering names. And I know I’m not alone. You know who you are and you’re nodding, aren’t you?
I ran into a woman at Starbuck’s, and we chatted for twenty minutes. I couldn’t think of her name, I barely recognized her, and I couldn’t figure out how she knew me. Our conversation was so general I wasn’t picking up on any clues. It took me awhile to figure it out. I really thought I was losing my mind.

Our mind is fascinating, containing a vast amount of information, important and totally useless. Unfortunately, it doesn’t discriminate when it decides what information to lose. Like the time I worked for a bank, and forgot the combination to the compartment that held my cash. It was busy, and like many days before, I walked into the vault and bent down to spin the combination. Nothing. My mind was blank. I had spun that combination every day for months without thinking. And then it was gone.

The most recent incident was remembering a neighbour’s name. Typically, it will come to me in a short while, but not this time. For the last five days, I pass her house as I walk the dogs, and I can’t think of her name. I try triggering the memory by thinking of other names. Is it Clare? No. Hannah? Debbie? Carol? As I walk past her house, the name niggles at my brain and I can’t reach it. Yesterday she was outside raking. We chatted, and still no name came to mind. But this morning the name was coming into focus, and voilà! Her name is Trish.

One neighbour down, and another to go before my life is no longer a Canadian Tire commercial. Now if only I could remember where I put my car keys.