When I graduated from High School I decided it was time for a new set of scriptures. I went to the Distribution Center and got the off the clearance table. They were on clearance because the binding wasn't done right, so some of the pages aren't actually attached. I got them like that, rather than prefect, because... well, I suppose because when you are religious, you should be poor. I guess. Religion should b free. So The fact that I had less-than perfects scriptures made me feel more religious, or at least, less like a hypocrite. When I had my name engraved on them, I purposely only had them do my first name. They were very concerned about this and called me several times to make sure I did not want a last name on my scriptures. I did not. I was a teenager, and trying to figure out who I was, so I wanted the scriptures to have my first name and no family name, so they would be mine, and not...well, I don't know. It was a teenager thing. Anyway, I loved these scriptures from the beginning. They were unique. They had had class, character. They had gumption.
I took my old and my scriptures to all church functions, so I could transfer markings from my old scriptures into my new scriptures. I wrote notes, made highlights, had a very precise color coding and marking system, and even signed my name in the front every time I finished reading them. I loved these scriptures, they were with me through my toughest times.
Then Drek and I were married we started attending this Married Student Ward. In September, I accidentally left my precious scriptures in the Chapel. They were stolen.
I lost my wallet in the parking lot of an ice cream store and it gets returned to my door, fully intact. Money, credit cards, drivers licence, everything.
I lost my cell phone in a mall and some 14 year old kid calls my dad to inform him that he had his daughter's cell phone. No prank calls were made, nothing.
I leave my scriptures in the chapel of an LDS church, and they get stolen.
Every Sunday I went to the lost and found looking for them. I asked the librarian, the Relief Society President, the ward clerk and that stake president.
When Christmas came, there was talk of getting me a new set of scriptures. I protested. I did not want new scriptures, I wanted MY scriptures. After Christmas, my mother offered to give me a pair of highly rare, highly expensive, real leather bound scriptures. Again, I protested. I wanted MY scriptures, and no others would be the same. Drek started praying for my scriptures the beginning of January, when it became clear that no substitutions would do. So, I started praying for them too. We would pray that I would find them, that whoever took them would return them etc.
Today we arrived t church early so Drek could prepare the sacrament. I found us a seat, and immediately headed for the lost and found. In that hall, there was a table set up with dishes in it, waiting for the owners to claim them. On the table, front and center, were my scriptures.
4 months later, there were my scriptures. It is a miracle.