In Plain Sight

By Susan Knight

 

He's only good when he's asleep.

The still, small voice didn’t seem to be in panic mode as I was. “Where could it be?” I asked myself, searching frantically around the house for my company ID badge. “I can’t blame the dog for this one,” I told myself, then countered, “Oh, yes, I can.”

I mentally compiled a list of things to blame on the dog:

·       I have to come right home after work to let him out, instead of going to the store.

·       I could have more of a social life if I didn’t have to come home right after work to let him out.

·       I could walk around my house without fearing I’ll trip over dog toys.

·       My home would be immaculate like it was before the dog.

·       I’d have nice grass outside again.

·       Now I have to replace the rugs—if he ever gets potty trained.

Two weeks ago he chewed up my company ID badge—ten dollars to replace. Last week he ate my dumb phone. I was thinking about trying out a smart phone, but had to figure how I could rob Peter to pay Paul to be able to afford it. No excuse now. I need a phone. . . do I really need a dog?

Now, my ID badge was missing again. I remembered taking it off and thinking I can’t just leave it on the table next to my bed again. I can’t leave it but somewhere up high so the dog can’t get it. But where did I actually leave it? It’s not in my backpack because I didn’t bring that in from the car because we were going to obedience school. I took my blouse off it was attached to and. . .where did I put it?

Praying all over my house, “Lord, where’s my ID badge?” I kept getting the message, “It’s in plain sight.” The voice inside my head kept saying “It’s in plain sight” so much I started repeating it out loud.

Plain sight? Plain sight? Where?

I scoured the kitchen, retracing every step, even to the point where I went to the garbage can in the garage and took out the bag I just put in there thinking it fell off my shirt into the bag.

Nope. Not there.

I looked on the book shelf, in my closet, in the bathroom, in the kitchen again, in the car. I checked both pocket of my backpack—twice!

“Plain sight. Plain sight. Where is plain sight?” I wondered out loud again. “Lord, if it’s in plain sight, you’re going to have to give me more of a hint. I’m looking everywhere in plain sight.”

I decided it was time to kneel down and pray. I cleared my mind and asked, “Lord, where is my ID badge?” I calmed my body and my mind, waiting for an answer. “In plain sight.”

“Lord, if it’s in plain sight, will you please let me find it before I have to leave for work tomorrow?”

I decided I just couldn’t worry about it anymore. I had wasted enough time. I would just rely on the Spirit. “Oh, well, what’s ten more dollars? If I find it eventually, it will be a spare.” I thought maybe it fell off on the sidewalk while I walked the dog and I’d see it in the morning as I drove past it. Or. . . I didn’t know what.

“Is this how dementia begins?” I wondered, thinking of all the dear residents at Clare Bridge where I used to work, talking to themselves, wandering around as if looking for something, determined, urgent. I shuddered. “Please, Lord, not early onset.”

I got in bed, hoping to have a dream to help me discover where I may have misplaced my ID badge. The dog snuggled up against my back. “I’m giving it up to you, Lord.”

“In plain sight.”

“Plain sight. Plain sight.”

In the morning he snuggled again as the alarm went off and licked my face. I pet him and got out of bed, not even thinking about the ID. I got dressed and ready to go to work, my ID badge still not found. Leaving, I pet the dog, told him I'd be home later, and closed the door to my large, master bathroom where he happily stays during the day—his den.

 

I picked up my backpack from the chair in my dining room—and there was my ID badge! I had attached it to the loop on the top of my backpack, right in plain sight. I must have done that in the car, not knowing where to put it in the house so the dog wouldn’t get it. I had checked inside the backpack, but the top of it had drooped in the chair as I did. I had no recollection of putting the badge there.

“Plain sight.” I shook my head slowly, then looked upward and chuckled. “Okay. I get it. I get it. You are there for me no matter what. You didn’t panic. I should have picked up on that.”

I smiled, closed my eyes and said, “Thank you, Father. I love you, too.”