I Promise It's There

There's a delightfully fascinating ailment that afflicts people where I work. In case you need a reminder, I work in the wellness department at a health food store. Which means I should probably be used to people with interesting ailments. We do get all sorts. Still, I never fail to smile when I meet yet another individual suffering from this particular problem. So...I smile a lot because I've yet to meet someone (customer or coworker) who has not been troubled with this dis-ease (myself included) and I think it's hilarious. I'm not sure why it happens or what causes it, and you'd think that after 14 months I'd have recovered. I hide my symptoms well but I still struggle at times.

The condition doesn't have a name. In fact, it's something that most people try to ignore and downplay. Sometimes they even blame other people for it. I can understand the need. It can be embarrassing to experience the disorder especially when you don't know what I know--that everyone experiences it. So, when I'm presented with yet another case, I do my best to smile demurely, pretend I didn't see, and do all I can to hide my laughter. Never let it be said that Esther is not a considerate person. 

Have I piqued your curiosity yet? Are you mentally running through every illness you've ever heard of trying to figure out what could possibly be so omnipresent? Good luck finding it. Like I said, it doesn't have an official name and I'm not sure it's made it into any diagnostic books yet. 

So, I've come up with my own name. I call it I Promise It's There Syndrome (IPITS). No laughing. I promise this is a very serious, well thought-out name. And no matter if it is your first time entering the wellness section of the store, or if you've worked there three times a week for over eight years, you're still susceptible. 

How can you be sure if someone has developed the syndrome? Well, if they're a customer the scenario will probably look something like this.

"After wandering the aisles in silence for what felt like an eternity, she finally gave in and turned to the employee who was working busily at a nearby shelf. 'Excuse me, do you work here?' She asked tentatively.

Turning from where she had been contemplating the difference (and potential benefits) of taking 250 mg and 500 mg of Apple Cider Vinegar, the employee turned and answered brightly, 'Yes, I do. How can I help you?'

Embarrassed and a little scared that she'd taken the employee from an important task, the customer rushed, 'I've been looking all over for the melatonin and I can't find it. I thought I was in the right spot, but I guess I don't know where the sleep section is.'

With herculean effort the employee managed not to roll her eyes in humor, choosing not to point out that the customer could have merely looked up to see a sign directly above her head that read 'Sleep.' Instead, she smiled and said, 'You were so close! It's right behind you.' Then she watched as the customer turned and scanned the entire shelf for a long few seconds before she said, in surprise, 'Oh! There it is! I don't know how I didn't see it.'"

Oh, if only this story weren't so familiar. A little less common, but no less humorous is the version where an employee contracts the disorder.

"He hurried from the phone toward the second aisle, trying not to get annoyed that yet another individual had decided to call and ask all sorts of questions that would be easier to answer in person. It was way faster to compare different brands, prices, and quality when he didn't have to race back and forth from the phone to the shelf. She'd said this was the last one, though. He just had to find out if the specific brand of vitamin C she wanted was in stock, and check the price. Reaching the shelf, he stared blankly at the shelves. He knew what he was looking for, he'd seen the specific product just last week, but where was it. Eyes jumping from bottle to bottle he scanned each shelf. Odd. It wasn't there. It wasn't the most popular product and he'd been fairly sure they still had some in stock. 

He jumped slightly when his coworker came around the corner. "Are you alright?" A good question. Now, in addition to being frustrated with a customer, he had his own embarrassment at not being able to find vitamin C to contend with. Sighing, he turned and asked, "Have you seen_____?" Smiling knowingly, his coworker tapped the shelf at eye level and he turned to see the very product directly in front of his face. Not again."

I don't know why, but there's just something about facing row upon row and aisle after aisle of supplements that makes it hard to find what you're looking for. Day after day I meet people who, after I show them what they're looking for, look at me and say, "I'm not sure how I didn't see it." Even more fun, though (if that's possible), are the people who don't believe me when I tell them where to find something. 

Sometimes, when my hands are full or I'm in the middle of a delicate task, I can't point out the specific location of a product. In those cases I either take them most of the way and gesture broadly, or give the most specific instructions I can. Without fail, the people I gesture broadly for will stare at the shelf I pointed them to and then glance back at me with raised brows, completely missing the product staring them in the face. And if I am forced to merely direct people to a certain aisle and shelf, I've learned it's best to hurry up my task and follow them because 8 times out of 10 they will be standing in the general area, probably within inches of the product they are seeking, and yet somehow woefully far away from seeing it. The look of relief that shows on their faces when I come up and point it out to them is a little odd. As if, for a moment, they weren't sure they could believe that I'd led them to the right spot. Perhaps they were doubting my instructions. I've even met a few who didn't believe me when I told them that we did carry what they were looking for and that they would find it in a specific spot.

The irony struck me just the other day. Unable to get off the stool I was standing on to show a gentleman to the product he was seeking, I gave him instructions and watched as he walked away with a bit of doubt on his face. Did he really not believe me when I told him we carried it? I'm good at what I do. If I say we carry something, we carry it. If I say we don't carry something, 93% of the time I'm correct. I think it's a bit ridiculous that someone would doubt me. 

Almost immediately I was struck with the thought--What reason does he have to trust me? He doesn't know me, doesn't know how long I've worked there. If people are to be believed, I look like I'm 17. Not a confidence-inspiring age. I clambered off my perch and went to help him track down his supplement. He'd actually given up looking at the shelves when I reached him and was instead looking around to find someone else to point him directly to it. He hadn't believed me when I'd told him we had his supplement, so even though he made it to the right area, he didn't spend very long trying to find it. After all, what's the point of searching for something that isn't actually there? 

That got me wondering. How much does trust (or lack thereof) play into IPITS. How many people can't find what I know is right in front of them simply because they don't believe it's there? Suddenly, the ridiculous IPITS became a topic of deep introspection for me. In life, how many times do we miss the answers or opportunities we're looking for because we don't believe they're there? Even when friends, family members, mentors, teachers, and role models tell us that they are? 

The question becomes--how much do you trust others? Enough to keep looking for that one product (opportunity, life lesson, moment of happiness) just because they said it was there? Enough to search long and hard despite the fact that it feels pointless just because they believed in us?

But not only that, how much do you trust yourself? As is the case with my coworker, sometimes we know something's there. We've seen it before and we're just trying to locate it again. Yet somehow, when we want it, we can't find it. How much do we trust ourselves (our instinct and intuition) in those moments? Enough to slow down, listen, look, and find it? Enough to open our eyes to what is right before our eyes? Enough to open our hearts to possibilities we only glanced at before? 

But beyond that, how much do you trust God? Without a doubt He is omniscient. He knows what's in our supplement store. He knows what we're looking for, if it exists, and where we'll find it. He can give the perfect instructions. But how much do we trust Him? When He promises that joy is within our grasp, do we trust Him enough to reach for it? When He says all that we've dreamed of can be ours, do we open our eyes to catch sight of that reality? When He tells us to walk down an aisle we've been down before (one that perhaps look scary, overwhelming, and utterly pointless) do we trust Him enough to go back down that aisle? Do we take the time to look up and read the signs He's already placed in our path? Do we trust those signs and follow them? Do we trust Him and follow Him? 

I'll be honest. I don't. Not as much as I should. I can't tell you the number of times I've gone to God with a question, a problem, or a complaint and groaned in frustration when I felt like He wasn't answering me. After all, seek and you shall find, ask and you shall receive. It should have been simple. I guess I forgot that in order to find anything you have to believe it exists and then be willing to do the work, go the distance, and search the shelves to find it.