Yesterday, I lost my keys at a track meet. Also, my daughter hurt herself on her first jump of the triple jump. She ran. She jumped. She felt an unfamiliar pain. Barely five minutes into the meet and I was at the snack bar asking for ice. The kind ladies working there said, “Already? They are not even running yet.”
Yes. Already.
You should know this was not just any meet. This was an important one. Do well here and advance to Sections. And then the Masters Meet. And then the State meet! On it goes.
So, after stretching and icing and talking with her coaches, she decided not to compete in her 800m race, set to start an hour or so after the fateful jump. Which meant that I had a lot of time to walk around the track (might as well get some steps in, right?) and deal with my own gremlins, the ones who love success and watching her run and who were disappointed and then worried about the races scheduled for Thursday. What if she’s really hurt? What if she can’t run her favorite race Thursday, the 1600m run? She’s had such a good season so far. Could it all be over after one bad triple jump?
Doom. Gloom.
Somewhere in the waiting, as the running events began and I cheered on her teammates in spite of my sadness, I lost my keys.
Can you say, “This is not turning out to be my favorite day ever?”
Except. As is the case with many seemingly unfortunate events, there was also a cascade of grace heading my way.
Here was the first grace: I noticed that my keys were missing at all.
You see, my husband met us at the meet. Smart man that he is, he had his keys. He parked on the other side of the stadium, while we were right by the entrance. So as we all piled into our little car to drive him back to his, it unlocked like normal. It was only when he got out and went to his car that my car politely informed me that there was no key around.
“Great,” I thought. “My key battery has finally died.” The car had been warning me for weeks of imminent battery failure. If the key fob battery wears out, then the car won’t start. My husband gallantly offered to loan me his key, just to get us moving again. I almost took him up on his offer. I’d had the keys in my pocket all afternoon. They must be around, right?
I decided to check, just to be sure.
Nowhere to be found.
We looked under the seats. We looked in the back of the car. We looked places where keys never could be. My husband was even brave and looked through my purse. We went back to where we were originally parked. Walked around the parking lot. I went back in to the stadium and retraced my steps. Could they be by the bleachers where I sat and watched for a bit? In the student section where I picked up my daughter’s backpack? At the announcer’s booth?
I ran into one of my friends, the mother of one of my daughter’s friends, just arriving. She was worried about my daughter; she heard she wasn’t running. “Me too!” I said, “Plus I just lost my keys.” She nodded, understanding. We all have days like these.
That brief encounter was the second grace.
A few minutes later, I sat in the parking lot of 7-11, waiting for my husband to buy our daughter a consolation Slurpee. One more time, I futilely ransacked the car and my purse. No keys. It finally occurred to me that this might be an appropriate time to pray. I hadn’t thought about it until then. I am slow sometimes.
I confess my prayer was a little grumpy. “Really, Lord,” I said. “Could you just help me find my keys? I am lost here, and my girl may be hurt, and this is just a little too much for me to bear. So, could you?”
I sat back in the drivers seat. My daughter got back in the car with her drink. I checked my phone again.
There on my phone, where it hadn’t been a minute before, was a text from my friend. My keys were in the announcer’s booth.
There was grace number three, beautiful and sparkling and kind. Someone, bless them, found my keys, and turned them in. Also, the announcer made an announcement over the loudspeaker that my friend actually heard. Because, really, most of the talk that comes over the loud speaker is hard to understand. And if you are talking to someone? And they are announcing something that isn’t relevant to your child? You usually tune it out.
The more I think about it, the more I realize that I was blessed yesterday with more than just a series of graces. I got a miracle. Because of all the people at that track meet, there were only a handful who had my cell phone number. And only one who had my phone number and also knew I was looking for my keys.
My sweet husband went back to the announcer’s booth and collected them. We all went home and had vegetable soup from the crock pot.
The graces are always all around. Sometimes it takes a bad day for me to notice them. Once I remember the graces? The bad day isn’t so bad anymore.
And just a note: my daughter ran on Thursday and qualified for the Sections meet. Her hip is fine, but now her knee is sore.
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