Who Holds the Key?

It once was lost but now is found

If I had a dollar for every time I misplaced something important, I could probably afford a personal assistant to keep track of everything for me. Sometimes the missing items stay lost, sometimes they eventually turn up, and sometimes I need help—divine help—to find them.

That was the case not long ago when we were getting ready to sell our house. Our realtor had dropped off a lock box so other agents would have access to the keys to the house when showing it to potential buyers. We had not used a physical key to open our door in quite awhile; instead, we preferred to punch in a secret code on the front door’s electronic keypad. Our realtor told us, “Most agents are usually more comfortable with a key, so just put one in the lock box and close it up.”  

“No problem,” I replied as she left, then pulled the key ring out of my pocket. On it were my two car keys, a desk key, a padlock key and a couple more that I couldn’t identify, along with a fob that would emit an electronic beep if activated from my phone. (Did I mention I tend to lose things?) But there was no house key. I picked up my wife’s keys and searched through them, but there was no house key there either.   

I was baffled. There had always been a house key on my key ring. Where did it go? My wife and I spent the rest of the day rifling through drawers, emptying out pockets and even looking in obscure hiding places. We turned the house upside down but came up empty. I called my neighbor. “Did I ever give you a key to our house?” I asked. “Nope,” she replied. I contacted my out-of-town kids to see if maybe they had one they could send me. No luck.  

Then I remembered something. A couple of weeks before, we had returned from vacation, flying in after midnight. I remembered wanting to have a key with us just in case the door’s keypad didn’t work when we got home. If I had taken a key with us, I reasoned, then surely it was in my backpack. I grabbed the pack off the floor of our closet and searched through every pocket. I had left a few items in there, but not a house key. I searched the pack again, and then a third time before finally giving up.

The next day I spent a couple of hours combing the Internet and using the phone, trying to find a place that could cut a key using only a lock cylinder, but I was knocking on a closed door. So again I searched in all the places I had looked before, including another unsuccessful inspection of my backpack. Exasperated, I finally collapsed on my bed, and verbally pleaded, “God I need your help! Please tell me where the house key is!” 

As I lay there, I heard no voices, but a conversation began to form in my mind. At first I thought it was simply a conversation with myself, but I began to sense that Someone outside of me was actually a party to this little talk. Was God answering my plea? 

God: “So you’ve lost a key, huh?”

Me: “Yes, and I really need You to help me find it.”

God: "Okay. Where do you THINK it is most likely to be?"

Me: “I was almost certain it was in my backpack. Since we were flying, I didn’t need my other keys, but I distinctly remember wanting to have a house key when we got home so late.”

God: "Good idea."

Me: "I thought so too. But the key isn't in my backpack. I've searched it thoroughly several times, so I guess I didn't take a key with me after all."

God: "Mm...well if you HAD taken one with you, which backpack pocket would you have put it in?"

Me: "That zipper pocket at the very top of the backpack; the one that holds little things so they won't get lost. It would be safest there."

God: "I would think so too. Do you remember putting anything in that pocket?"

Me: "Yeah, a couple of flash drives for my computer and some AA batteries. They were still in there when I looked yesterday."

God: "Did you put anything else in that pocket?"

Me: "Let me think…mm, I may have put the extra miniature suitcase locks in there too.”

God: "You had a few of them, didn't you? Were they all loose there in the pocket together?"

Me: "No, they were attached to a key ring along with all the little keys to the locks."

God: "A key ring, huh?”

Me: “Uh…yeah.”

God: (after long pause) “Where are the suitcase locks now?"

Me: "I guess I put them back where I always keep them, in the bottom drawer of the old dresser under the stairs. But, wait; we sold that dresser a few days ago so we wouldn’t have to move it.”

God: "Where did you put the stuff that was in the bottom drawer of the dresser before you sold it?"

Me: "In a box somewhere."

God: "Could it be the same box that's still under the stairs next to where the dresser was?"

Me: "Yeah, maybe."

God: "I'd go take a look there if I were you." 

I did, and of course, the house key was in the box, on the key ring with the locks, right where God said it would be. I prayed a prayer of thanks, assuming my conversation with Him was over.  

Apparently it wasn’t, because suddenly a question filled my mind; the kind of question I probably wouldn’t ordinarily pose, but one that I’m sure God would. 

“So Nick, I’m just wondering…why did you wait so long to ask?” 

© Nick Walker 2023