Written By: Amy McArthy

Narrated By: Kara Lea Kennedy

After years of foot problems, I found custom orthotics that became gold to me. I could slip them into any closed-heel shoe and wear them for hours without pain.

Then, one day, they simply vanished.

For months, I checked every pair of shoes I owned, multiple times. I cleaned out my closet. I looked under my bed. Finally, I resigned myself to wearing only my boring, “sensible” shoes— the ones that promised feelings of “walking on a cloud.”

One evening, my daughters and I walked through a local department store. Near closing time, the place was deserted. Drawn by the rows of clearance tables, I decided to take a quick look at the footwear; I am a magnet for a good deal. I was immediately drawn to a cute pair of boots. The price was perfect, so I hurried to slip them on before the store shut its doors.

But I noticed something peculiar inside the boots. I didn’t really want to stick my hand in to retrieve whatever was “lurking,” but gathering my courage, I reached in and pulled out—my orthotics! What? How was that possible? In that surreal moment, it all rushed back: I had bought these very boots online months prior and returned them, apparently with my inserts still nestled inside.

We want so much to control our environment. When we lose something—or lose our way—we come face-to-face with the reality that we aren’t in charge. But really, were we ever?

Whether it’s driving on unfamiliar roads at night, absorbing the reeling loss of a loved one, or even the disappearance of a cherished item like a wedding ring or shoe inserts, loss leaves us unsettled. It reminds us we are not in control. We have lost something or someone precious.

The Bible tells of a father who brought his son to Jesus, seeking healing. Jesus asked, “Do you believe?” The father replied, “I believe; help my unbelief.” This may be the most honest prayer ever modeled. In that same spirit, we can also pray, “I trust, help me to trust.” Perhaps the next time we face a loss, we can let that feeling of helplessness push us towards the only One who ordains our steps and brings order to our world.

From that place of trusting God, maybe we can allow our loss to help us really see those we pass in a different light. What if we stopped and took the time to hear stories? Might we learn what they’ve lost? Like the cashier at a local grocery store who lost her child and the use of her arm when she suffered a stroke during pregnancy. Or my neighbor who lives alone, surrounded by darkness and clutter, because he has lost the ones he loved the most. Connection is the best way to rediscover peace after loss.

Connection can come through the caring touch on the shoulder, fellowship over a cup of coffee, or just listening to a story. That connection may allow the one overwhelmed by loss to emerge into a newly discovered safe place.

Losing shoe inserts doesn’t compare to the pain many have known. However, the connection after my inserts were found is what I still remember from that mysterious event in a deserted department store. My daughters saw that what was lost had finally found its way home. They also saw what that loss—and recovery—did in and for me.

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