My birthday rolled around today, and I went to eat a sumptuous repast at my sister's house. My mother called me that morning and reminded me to deliver the stocking. My sister mentioned in the course of arranging rides to her house that my mother had called her and told her to remind me to bring the stocking. I smiled knowingly at my mother's overprotective worrying and nonchalantly went to where I had piled my presents. The box- and the envelope with the stocking- were gone. I felt a chill slide up my spine. A hole opened in the pit of my stomach, and the canaries in said crevice (if there were any) would no doubt have stopped their cheerful chirping.
I spent the next half an hour ransacking my apartment, interrogating my roommates, overturning couches, and weeping bitterly. I even went out to the dumpster, looking vainly to see if it had been just tossed out-- the dumpster was nearly filled to the brim, and I was once again overcome with horror. I was sick with fear and agony and despair and guilt. I fell facedown on the couch and was miserable. I was also, unfortunately, rather uptight with my roommates, who reacted kindly despite my powerful gloom. I went to my sister's house, where both she and my brother-in-law were kind and supportive, and my nieces were, as usual, insanely cute. Abigail in particular prevented me from remaining in a bad mood (hooray for neiphen. They are so cute and wonderful!) I returned home with a commitment to find the stocking no matter how hard or how long I had to look. Having exhausted the possibilities of my room and the apartment, I turned to the only place I could think of- the dumpster. Armed with a flashlight, I went out, and after stirring around for a bit, I summoned my courage and climbed in.
The smell was-- well, it was a dumpster, so it smelled like what you'd expect. After a few minutes, I had nothing to show for my efforts except sticky hands and the dry heaves. However, I must admit that it was, on some level, fun. I had never been dumpster diving before, and there was a degree of newness to it. Even with that, it was awful. It was gross, and sticky, and made me sick, and I was still filled with despair, because I knew that there was no reason for me to assume that I'd even find anything. I knew that I could go all through the dumpster and it still might not be there. This was almost enough to convince me to give up when I had gotten down to knee-deep in trash (I threw the bags out the side of the dumpster). However, I came to the commitment that if it wasn't there, I would know it, because I would be scraping the last bit of trash off the bottom of the dumpster if necessary.
I had hit bottom on the back half and was making my way down the left side of the front when I found the box.. I grabbed it with trembling hands and looked inside. there was the envelope. I let out a shout of joy and relief, and scrambled to the lip of the dumpster, still whooping- just in time to see a really confused pedestrian shoot me a very strange glance and hurry on his way. I didn't even care. I jumped out of the dumpster, dropped to my knees, and said a very sincere prayer of thanks. Then I jumped up and began tossing the trash back in, happily calling my mother and telling her what happened (she had called earlier and asked how my day had gone I had answered that it had been both good and bad, and that I would tell her why later. She remarked that it was good I hadn't told her, because she would have been stewing the whole time).
A number of things have occurred to me about this experience. First of all, I had a great birthday, with emotional lows and highs and ending on a great note. Second of all, I have a great story, and one I look forward to telling during Christmases to come ("Evie, you see your stocking right there? Well, your uncle Court loved you so much that he..."). On another level, I had a very spiritual experience through this search. Never in my life have I felt closer to how Joseph Smith must have felt after losing the 116 pages then when I could not find that stocking. I was racked with how much love was contained in the stocking, how hard my mother had worked, and how she had entrusted it to me, who had let her down with so many other things... and I had lost it again. I felt utterly miserable and heartbroken. I also felt a great outpouring of love, both from my sister and her family and from my cousins, who supported me even as I was in the dumpster and (except that they were in Sunday clothes) would have been in the dumpster with me. I had some of the most humble and heartfelt prayers that I have offered in quite some time. I also had my testimony strengthened that the Lord blesses us when we are willing to work. I know that I found the stocking both because the Lord blessed me and because I was in the dumpster searching for it. I learned the importance of perseverance and faith; it was hard to stay in the dumpster, but the payoff is enormous.
And, just as a note- it was NOT MY FAULT that the stocking was lost. I did not lose it this time. I didn't (as I secretly feared) put it away somewhere and forget it. Someone else did, in fact, take it from where I placed it and threw it away. In a strange way, it is nice to know.
