I know I’m not the only one that this happens to. The Universe seems to deal you a few setbacks or disappointments and you’re looking at air, saying “What the f$#&?”
Well, it happened to me again recently. In the course of just over a week I lost several pieces of jewelry I loved. It’s not that the pieces were costly (thank goodness!) but they had meaning to me, sentimental value. First, I lost a ring I bought in Greece. It was an odd ring, I thought, with a flat, round disk on top imprinted with the Greek calendar. My daughter bought one too. We sat in a jewelry store in Athens and negotiated with the salesman, of course only to find the ring slightly cheaper at another shop in Santorini. Still, that ring represented the entire experience–the trip with friends, floating in the Aegean Sea, the black sands of the beach at Santorini, our laughter when we found that like typical tourists, we had been taken again.
A day after losing the ring, I lost a silver ring I had gotten with a gift card given to me on my big 60th birthday. It represented the friendship of the young woman who gave it to me. A couple of days later I lost what had become my everyday earrings, a silver pair my sister Carol bought me on one of our trips to Target. As I said, it wasn’t the cost that made me ache, it was the intention and memory behind the jewelry. Carol is unemployed and so the gift was even more appreciated. She knew I didn’t have a pair of everyday earrings (having lost mine some time ago) and she sacrificed to buy those for me.
So I found myself screaming at the Universe and–yes, questioning God once again: “What do you want from me? Why am I losing my jewelry? Are you trying to tell me something?”
I decided to get over it, shrug and move on. The answer would come. And really, it was small stuff. I was headed to Philly to a conference. Shortly after I arrived at my friend’s house, where I would be staying, she gave me a small box.
“Your late birthday gift,” she said. Inside, I found what has now become my new pair of everyday earrings. (I wanted to show you a photo but I couldn’t get it attached. Shucks). The next day, I received another gift in the mail that I had forgotten about. It was a beautiful pair of earrings made by my childhood girlfriend Romenia.
I had a beloved bracelet given to me by another friend and that bracelet had broken. I asked Romenia to take the pieces and make me earrings. She made gorgeous earrings, each one a different shaped, large sliver of aqua colored stone with various metal and jewels hanging. They were not a perfect match, which I love! I had forgotten that she was going to send them to me in Philly, so it was a pleasant surprise .
I had two new pairs of earrings! Then my hostess, my friend Earni, handed me another pair of unusual green, wooden earrings that she had bought for herself but discovered she didn’t like. I adore them. So in less than three full days, I had received three new pairs of earrings.
The Universe is perfect. It takes and it gives. That doesn’t mean it’s easy to let go or to “lose” what we hold dear to us.
This does not compare in any way, but I am reminded of a conversation with a friend the other day. His son passed away just over a week ago. I can’t imagine the pain. (I don’t think we are supposed to be able to imagine such.) My friend spoke to me about “letting go,” about how we become attached to things and yes, most assuredly to people, especially to our beloved children and family. And yet, he said he was trying to accept “letting go” of the physical part of his son. We spoke of all that his son left behind in the place of his physical self–the love, compassion, intelligence and much more he had spawned with his presence.
All you can do is hold onto your faith. Hold it close, always and pay attention because you can lose something and find that you can receive something else that in some way is even greater. Open your eyes wide to see; your ears to hear; your arms to embrace what comes. No doubt, some losses are much greater–harder– than others. In my case, I shrugged, let go and put out my hands. Friends filled my hands with more than what I thought I had lost.
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