"Nothing is lost in the mind of God," is a phrase I first read in a Doreen Virtue book many years ago. (My copy is dated 1999, but it may have been later for me.) She told a story about losing a small change purse on a family outing. Her family were Christian Scientists, and they taught her, "Nothing is ever lost, God always knows where it is." As I remember it, home after a family outing, she realized she'd lost the purse. Finding it by her bedside the next morning, she forever accepted that belief. (Doreen tells the story much more eloquently. You can read it in The Lightworker's Way.)

I think the story stuck in the back of my mind, but I didn't think of it for some years until I lost my favorite watch. The watch was nothing special, just a little Timex, but I wore it almost daily. The weird thing was that I didn't know when or where I lost it, thus, I had no idea where to look for it. My husband, Tim, offered to buy me a new one, but I had other watches, so I said, no. But, because Doreen had shared, 'nothing is ever lost,' I told him, "it will turn up at some point."

I swear it had to be a year or more when my husband drug out my golf bag. I hadn't golfed in some time. Guess what was in one of the pockets? And it still worked! After that, I would say "nothing is ever lost" for other things, most of which showed up within a day or two, some longer like my watch.

The next time that belief came into play involved a sign we have out front of our house. We live in a cottage community by a small lake where many of the residents name their homes. Ours is called "Nobody's Inn" referring to our earlier days when we spent a lot of time away. (We do not offer boarding!) It also gives a nod to the Bing Crosby and Mary White movie, Rhythm on the River. We have a fondness for old movies, and I liked that they were writers. (Music for them, books for me.)

One autumn, our sign disappeared. Again, Tim offered to make a new one. He and my younger son had painstakingly created the first. I said, no, "nothing is ever lost, it will come back to us." Summer came and went. Tim asked several times if I wanted him to replace it, but I refused. Winter blew through with all its snow. Still, we had no sign. Again and again, Tim offered to make a new one, but I kept saying no.

The next spring, while Tim sat on the front porch, a man stopped his car in front of our house. He asked Tim, "Didn't you used to have a sign hanging here?" "Yes," he answered, "it said, 'Nobody's Inn.'" "I have your sign," he said. Some college boys had been renting his cottage. When they moved out, he found a bunch of road and establishment signs from all over the area, including ours—maybe evidence of a fraternity stunt. Tim hung the sign back on its hooks. It had been found.

I don't expect those who have died to suddenly show up on my doorstep, but while doing some genealogy, I could not locate my great-grandfather's grave. He was not among other family burials. After a lot of research, I learned that my great-grandmother had declared herself a widow during a Census. Yet, no record of her husband's obituary or grave could be located before that date. Gleaning a clue, I wrote to a records office in Illinois to learn he had died after the Census date, had been cremated, and interred under a tree in a graveyard. I don't know the circumstances that created this odd situation, but now know where he is and when he died. He has been found!

Later in life, my mother remarried, moved to Florida, and retired from her in-home business of making storybook character Christmas ornaments. I never had a real set of them. Mom had diligently sent each new character to my elder brother and family, but since I lived at home, she joked that her set would one day be mine.

After she died, my stepfather remarried and her ornaments disappeared including her trademark "Storyteller" doll, an old man sitting in a rocker, feet up, book in hand. One afternoon, I received a frantic call from my cousin, Kerry. A lot of my mother's ornaments had shown up on eBay. I recognized immediately some one-of-a-kind items, including a doll Mom made for me for a school report I did on Finland. These were from her set! We both bought up all we could. Her ornaments had been found, but the Storyteller was not among them.

Over the years I've mislaid so many things, but, even after a long period of time, they have come to light—a photo of a very young Tim and I in Milan; a drawing a friend created for me after my breast cancer diagnosis; letters, heritage items, so much more.

I now keep a digital memo of missing items. It contains things such as my pre-engagement ring, which I believe fell off during a closet cleanout, a stack of my books that went missing prior to a conference, a love letter written by my grandfather (found it!), and a clip-on microphone designed to use on a laptop.

About that last one. . . the laptop microphone. I became very active on social media in the mid-2000s and, with a love of all things electronic, I had collected more than my fair share of gadgets. That little microphone was one of them. I loved how it clipped on the top of a laptop screen but offered high-quality sound during recording sessions for PODcasts and videos. It was one of those odd items that suddenly disappeared with no clue as to where. I imagined having lost it in many different places, none of which panned out to be true, but, even after years went by, I couldn't stop wondering what happened to it. I still wanted it even though it might now be outmoded. I couldn't stop looking for it, especially since I still believed, "nothing is ever lost."

My husband retired in October of 2022. It took him almost a year before he could clean out drawers, old briefcases, and closets. He has had his share of pitch-outs, but even now, he still is finding things he no longer needs, and, I suspect, he will continue to for several years to come. Some items we have donated, others we have listed for sale online.

The other day, while digging through his computer bag to find a USB charger, he handed me a small black zip case about the size of my palm. "This was my mini tape recorder. You can list it for sale," he said, offering it to me. My tech brain gears churned. I didn't know if I wanted to sell it. Maybe I wanted to hoard it. I laid the case on the counter to decide later. I have no real use for a mini-cassette recorder—don't smartphones replace so many things? But I WANTED it.

Later in the day, I opened the little case to check out the recorder. What was I looking at? I turned it over in my hand. It had a mini USB charging port and a large speaker, but I didn't see the regular off/on buttons one would expect. "Tim," I said, "this is not your recorder." "Yeah," he said, "I used it at work. . . " "No, I said, this is my lost microphone. I think you've been carrying it around for over ten years." (Neither of us knows how it got in his computer bag or how he never realized it wasn't what he thought.)

Nothing is ever lost. God always knows where it is.

Now I just need to find the Storyteller, my ring, my. . .