We ended 2013 with a trip to the ocean. The weather was winsome. The waves wild. The boys full of joy. Until we lost the car keys on the beach. Have you ever searched for a small set of keys on miles of surf-washed sand?

Two hours later, we hadn’t found the keys that fell out of Scott’s pocket while he played with our sons, though I prayed hard. Really hard they’d turn up. Everything we brought with us to the beach, including our towels, were locked in our Suburban. The boys stood wet and cold in their bathing suits beside the sealed car. With the sun sinking into the ocean, AAA would not send a truck until they located us on their google map. On the phone with the most unhelpful dispatcher ever– she couldn’t find us on Sonoma State Beach and kept joking about it– as Scott paced around threatening to break a window on our SUV.

Finally, I asked a family parked beside us to help warm up our boys. With teeth chattering, we put our youngest sons in this family’s pickup. Then as the family drove half our family to a hotel, we spotted a AAA truck helping someone else change their battery along the road.

“Let’s stop and ask that AAA guy to open your car,” said the helpful daddy driving the pickup. So the daddy asks the AAA guy to follow us back to our car. And AAA does. In the midst of unlocking our car, the AAA dispatcher I couldn’t make headway with calls this driver to report a family with lost keys on Sonoma State Beach. But the dispatcher still hasn’t located our parking lot on her google map. She has no idea where we are. “I’m with them right now,” says the AAA guy standing beside me. “I just unlocked their car.”

So now we have towels and dry clothes and diapers, but still no keys to drive our car, and the sun is gone. With a cold wind rising, the pickup takes half of us back to the hotel, and the AAA guy carries the rest of us there with our stuff a short while later.

The following morning at 8 a.m. I walk to a nearby gas station to meet another AAA truck that takes me back to our vehicle. There in the beach parking lot, we load the Suburban onto a flatbed truck to head for Santa Rosa to have keys made. I’m praying this whole time. This AAA guy gets in a fight over the phone with the dealership because they won’t cut the keys till we get there. And after the fight, he slicks back his hair, and stares at me until I squirm there in his passenger seat.

The day is beautiful, and after the AAA guy tells me all about surfing the big waves while we remain parked at the beach for no good reason except this guy wants to talk, we finally drive back roads through redwoods, and farm valleys, and wine country, but it’s hard to take in the scenery with AAA guy. Scott is back at our ocean hotel with five boys, no easy task there, either. But the boys are eating a complementary breakfast, swimming in a lovely pool, and watching TV (television is a treat for us because at home we only have DVDs). I’m just hoping to make it back to my family today.

For a hundred bucks, the keys eventually get cut at the Chevy dealership late Monday morning. The tow truck costs $250. And I’m feeling let down by God. I’ve prayed and prayed and I really thought we’d find our keys on the beach yesterday. The boys have enjoyed the ocean, but Scott and I return home discouraged.

I’ve carried home with me a magnet I bought in the hotel gift store. PERSPECTIVE is written on it. Really, how bad was this trip to the beach? Nobody drowned. Nobody got eaten by a great white shark. Our car is fine. And now that it’s all said and done, we have two sets of car keys, and we are home to ring in the new year with our new pastor and his lovely family.

The following morning, New Year’s Day, Scott builds a roaring fire before dawn. We are up at this dark hour because Cruz hardly ever sleeps in. Staring blurry-eyed at each other with coffee in hand, we sit down with our Bibles there in the living room. Scott has left the fireplace door wide open to fill the room with warmth.

When a flaming log jumps out of the hearth and lands on our rug, the room explodes with fire. Both Scott and I spring into action. Sparks flying in all directions, Scott grabs the log with his bare hands as I scream, “Don’t touch it!”

I run for water from the kitchen sink. Scott throws the fiery log back in the fireplace. Moments later, I’m tossing Big Gulp cups of water all over the burning rug.

When it’s over, our rug is fried, Scott’s fingers are sore, and all I can think is, We don’t have the money to replace this rug. “Do you think God is mad at us?” I ask Scott as we use butter knives to scrap the scorched embers out of our blackened carpet.

“God’s not mad,” Scott says, but I can tell he’s feeling down too. Losing the keys upset him. Setting the house on fire hasn’t helped his gloomy mood.

2013 was hard. Both of us are hoping 2014 proves a better year. This rough start with the lost keys and the flaming rug have left us boogered up, as my brother likes to say.

When three more of our boys wander out of bed that morning we put them to work with butter knives digging blackened ashes out of the damaged carpet. I scrub and scrub and scrub, and when we finally turn the carpet around, hiding the worst of the damage under a chair, I’m amazed our rug looks pretty decent.

As the first week of January unfolds, I catch myself expecting the worst. When did I become this half empty person? I’m usually the glass half full type of girl. I dig into God’s word, searching for encouragement like I’m mining for diamonds. By the weekend, I discover my own diamonds missing. Any jewelry of value, except my cross necklaces, are gone from my jewelry box. I especially grieve the loss of my engagement ring. It wasn’t worth much cash, but it meant a lot to me. I don’t know what’s happened to my jewelry, but on the day after I discover it missing, I sit in church hearing this sermon: “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth where moths and vermin destroy and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasure in heaven where moths and vermin do not destroy and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is there your heart will be also.” Matthew 6:19-21.  

Letting go of my jewelry isn’t that hard. I rarely wear jewels. The only reason I realized my jewelry was gone was because we had a wedding to attend and I wanted to wear some nice earrings. Now, I no longer own any nice earrings. One less thing to guard from thieves, I tell myself trying to find God’s perspective in all this, but each piece of jewelry was a gift from my husband. There’s a sweet little story behind every earring gone missing. And the engagement ring… How grateful I am our love stories can’t be stolen.

When I pass my refrigerator, mourning the loss of my things, that magnet PERSPECTIVE stares back at me. If my treasure is in heaven, what do I have to lose on this earth?

Keys, the carpet, my jewelry… who cares…

Five minutes later, I admit to myself, I care.

I’ve been praying for the person who may have taken my jewelry. We opened our home awhile back to a large crowd. None of my cross necklaces disappeared. Either the person who took the earrings and my engagement ring respected Jesus or wanted nothing to do with Him. And God has a lesson for me in this: anchoring my heart on heavenly things is where I’m at right now. And when God doesn’t answer my prayers, when He remains silent, and doesn’t intervene on my human behalf, it doesn’t diminish His heavenly grace one bit.

“I believe in the sun even when it’s not shining. I believe in love even when I cannot feel it. I believe in God even when He is silent.” Written on a wall during the Holocaust.