The first day of International Burn Camp felt like a dream. Every laugh, every story, every shared smile pulled me deeper into the magic of being fully, unapologetically myself. My extroverted heart was alive, thriving, soaring. I was meeting new people and connecting with those I knew, I felt right at home.
And then, in the quiet chaos of the day, it happened.
I reached to adjust my necklace, tangled in my hair, and my chest sank.
The cross pendant — my pendant — was gone.
It wasn’t just jewelry. It was me. My scars pressed into its surface, etched twenty years of survival and triumph into metal. I had made it with my own hands, marking my 20-year burn anniversary two years ago. Every groove, every line told a story of pain transformed into resilience. And now it was gone.
Panic hit first, sharp and cold. Tears threatened to fall. My chest tightened. I wanted to cry, to scream, to feel the heartbreak fully — but I couldn’t. Not here. Not now. It was not worth making everyone panic nor did I feel like it was the place to do so. I slipped the chain into my bag, swallowed the lump in my throat, and kept moving. After all, I was a leader, a mentor. Showing weakness wasn’t allowed, right? (WRONG!)
That evening, sitting down for supper, I realized I needed to share this with someone. Someone who had seen my broken pieces before, someone who could hold them without judgment. I pulled Andy aside and told him.
"We’ll look for it," he said, "and if we don’t find it, then it’ll be what it’ll be. But we will do what we can and let the rest happen."
Just like that, in those simple words, peace washed over me. A quiet, holy calm. If it wasn’t meant to be forever, God would take care of it. And for the first time since the panic hit, I believed it. I felt validated for this peace I started to feel already and for the way in which I felt God moving.
The final day arrived. I hadn’t seen the pendant. Hope felt fragile, almost gone, swallowed by the enormity of the campus (especially when I was everywhere on campus before I lost it). But still, a tiny flame remained.
Dressed to the nines in my velvet dress, feeling beautiful and alive, I passed the lobby. My eyes caught a bookshelf. My breath hitched.
There it was. My pendant.
No way... the only words to leave my lips.
Tears streamed down my face as I held it in my hands. I ran to Andy, holding it close, feeling a joy so pure it stitched together every fragment of my broken heart. God had heard my desperate but peaceful prayer. I showed Andy and he gave me the biggest hug that just put all those fragments back together in a way I didn't know I needed.
Reflecting back, I see the pattern. The enemy tries to steal what is precious and showing my story. My car — stolen, taking my 22-year-old companion, Sally Dave, on an unintended adventure. Opportunities, slipped through fingers. Blog posts blocked. This pendant — almost lost. Nearly missing the opprotunity to even attend this camp with illness and not being nominated (so nominating myself). And a few additional things that have been happening.
But here’s the truth: God always wins.
In the desperate prayers, in the quiet moments of peace, in the chaos and the questions — God is faithful. He restores what was lost. He honors our tears, our longing, our hope. He brings back what was taken, often more beautiful than we ever imagined.
So I ask you: Where do you feel the enemy is trying to steal from you? What is slipping through your hands?
Hold fast to your mustard seed of faith. Keep praying your desperate but peaceful prayers. Trust the God who restores hearts, stories, and hope. Trust Him to bring back what was lost — often in ways that take your breath away.
Because even in the despair, even in the heartbreak, even in the moments when it seems impossible… God is faithful. God restores. God returns.
And sometimes, He even returns a little pendant — a small, miraculous reminder that nothing is ever truly lost. And every waiting moment for the return of the lost is worth it!
