I was at the store in the spring and I saw a wonderful big floppy hat that was perfect for the beach and the boardwalk. I love hats and have many. But this hat, I reasoned, would be for the beach and probably get ruined or messed up so it was ok to buy it for just one season.

I remember when I put my package in the car I sailed the hat, like a Frisbee, into the back window of the car. That is the last memory I have of the wonderful floppy hat. It is not in my car, so I must have brought it into the house, but it is no where in the house that I can find. Not in my bedroom where I keep my hats; nor in the hall closet where some hats are kept. It has disappeared. I have lost the floppy hat and I don’t know how it happened.

Losing the floppy hat was not painful; more like frustrating. Some losses are like that. A photo keychain is with the floppy hat, some yarn went there as well as a new blouse. Those were frustrating losses. Other losses are not frustrating, but more stunning, or breath-taking. In 1999, I lost my new (to me) 1995 Mustang convertible when I hit a lumber truck parked across the highway at night. The truck had no reflectors, no headlights, in fact, was not even running…just parked across the highway and I slammed into it. I lost my wonderful convertible. I was not hurt, nor was my sister who was in the car with me, but the car was toast on the road!

Then there are the losses that are painful. I moved from one state to another and had to give away precious things: a valuable Chippendale clawfoot sofa, a Queen Anne clawfoot side chair, an upholstered mahogany bentwood rocker, all three recently upholstered, as well as other valuable and very well loved items; designer clothing; my espresso machine, etc., etc., etc. Some things were stolen from me: a beautiful emerald and diamond ring, my grandmother’s ruby daisy ring.

Some pain is sharper and deeper still than the loss of things: My beloved grandmother died and I was not there when she left this life. My mother died and I was not there when she left this life. My dear 11-year-old grandson died practically in my arms.

Loss is an important occasion in our lives and must be honored. When I gave up my furniture, I walked around the corner, sat down on the ground and cried and God said to me, “Don’t you know I will give you so much more…” All loss takes something from us besides itself. That void does not need to be refilled, but it must be acknowledged and honored. I never got my furniture or jewelry back; nor anything like it. Those losses were not refilled with similar items. Refilling the loss is not necessary to our life. Acknowledging and honoring the loss, however, is absolutely essential to our continued growth, and even our health and sanity.

We honor a loss by acknowledging the person, place or thing and its importance to us and the pain the absence of that person, place or thing has caused in our heart. Sometimes it’s necessary to weep; to write a letter that is never sent. All of this is done deliberately before God. By deliberately, I mean that you get alone and call out to Him and begin whatever process needs to be done. At each step you call to Him, reminding Him that you belong to Him and this loss is painful to you; and you verbally give Him your grief over the loss. It’s a painful process, but worth every second.

I always think of my painful loss experiences, in which I have to grieve and give that grief to Him, as a Sacrifice of Thanksgiving. Because the difference between giving thanks and a sacrifice of thanksgiving is that the latter costs you something.

So, when I have looked everywhere and can’t find something, I know it has gone to be with my floppy hat and try not to be frustrated because it is, after all, somewhere. My mother, and grandmother and grandson all three live with Him. I have no idea who has the stolen jewelry, the car is dust blown away, and the furniture is someone else’s property.