The Lost Ball
Today was an unexpected, soaked, colder-than-normal morning.
The sun was only beginning to peek over the horizon, but the world was already full of light. Not a cloud in the sky.
We headed to the field like we always do, but there were a couple of concessions. Maggy had developed a limp while we were away running errands yesterday, so I wasn’t planning on taking her and felt conflicted about leaving her behind.
As I was straightening up the living room from a lazy Saturday night, it was as if my girls, Maggy and Moon, had devised a plan.
“Let’s show Mom you’re fine.”
They started roughhousing.
It was as if Maggy had miraculously healed.
So, with a smile on my face, I put on their leashes. It felt important to inform Miss Maggy that she would not be running in the field and would remain leashed, limiting her movement for the duration to avoid further injury.
She agreed. 😊
Some mornings it feels impossible to get to the elders because of the girls losing their balls, picking up garbage, or some unexpected being on the field.
This was one of those mornings.
When we finally made it to the elders, before I could even say good morning, I noticed Moon had lost her ball in the high grass.
We are talking grass taller than her.
And because of the weight of the water, the grass lays down when you walk through it, creating dense cover for whatever lies beneath it.
Impossible.
As we began searching for Moon’s ball, Maggy would drop her ball.
Pick up her ball.
Drop her ball again.
And here’s the thought that tapped me on the shoulder…
I wasn’t trying to make meaning out of it. I was simply noticing what I noticed.
What is the risk of losing what you have while looking for what you lost?
Or…
Is losing what you have worth searching for what you lost?
How might that apply to life?
Looking for youth, you lose being present…
Looking for abstinence, you lose sovereignty…
Looking for perfection, you lose opportunities…
Looking for approval, losing your sense of self…
Interesting…
We aborted the mission.
And I swear—hand on heart—we found a tennis ball about ten feet further down, so suddenly both girls had a ball.
We played for a few more laps.
Soaked, but happy.
I became more careful not to throw the ball into the high grass.
Maggy safely enjoyed her play within the limitations.
And Moon…
Moon ran as fast as she could in pursuit of her conquest.
The Universe, God, the Field—whatever name you give it—felt like it had gently rewarded our wisdom.
Or maybe not rewarded.
Maybe simply reminded.
Feeling fully connected to the experience, we knew that the treasure we found to keep both dogs playfully satisfied was not ours to keep, regardless of what had been left behind.
So we left the ball in play.
Because maybe some things are meant to be enjoyed… appreciated… trusted…
and left for whoever needs them next.
…and maybe life keeps offering us more when we stop trying to hold onto every ball we’ve ever lost.
