The Treasure I Wasn’t Looking For

The Treasure I Wasn’t Looking For

2/4/26

Before you read too far, I want to invite you into the story the way it first met me.

If you’re able, pause for a moment and open your Bible—or a Bible app—and read Matthew 13:44 in the Gospel of Matthew.

Read it slowly. In silence. With a mindful heart.

You don’t need to understand it yet. Just notice the image.

A man.

A field.

A treasure hidden beneath ordinary ground.

Then come back.

There’s a quiet reality many people—especially those who carry responsibility for others—understand, even if they rarely say it out loud:

It’s not that Scripture doesn’t matter. It’s that life can become overwhelming.

Long shifts. Hard calls. Responsibility that follows you home. When you’re already exhausted and stretched thin, opening the Bible can feel distant—like something meant for calmer seasons or quieter lives.

So many keep going without it. Doing the work. Showing up. Holding everything together. Telling themselves they’ll return to Scripture when life settles down.

That was true for me too.

Then my husband was in a serious accident.

Everything I relied on felt like it vanished all at once—distant, confusing, heartbreaking in ways I still struggle to name. My heart ached constantly. The future felt fragile. Control was gone.

And I hadn’t touched the Bible in years.

In Jesus’ parable, the man wasn’t searching for treasure. He was simply going about his work in a field that looked like any other. Ordinary ground. Nothing remarkable on the surface.

That’s what my life felt like before everything broke open. Just ground I was moving through. Busy. Full. Unexamined.

But when the accident happened, it was as if the ground split beneath me.

And in that place—when everything else fell away—my heart and soul were drawn to Scripture. Not out of discipline. Not because I was trying to be faithful or find answers.

I simply had nothing else.

The man in the parable doesn’t analyze the treasure. He doesn’t question whether he deserves it. He doesn’t even announce it. He recognizes its worth—and everything quietly changes.

Scripture became that for me.

Not something loud or performative. Not something I was trying to “do right.”

It became the one place that didn’t disappear when everything else did. When words failed, it held me. When grief was loud, it gave me something steady to stand on. Not explanations—presence. Not rules—rest.

The treasure wasn’t the absence of pain. It was finding something solid beneath it.

Jesus says the man reburies the treasure and goes away joyful—not because his life is easy, but because he now knows what truly matters.

That’s what happens when Scripture stops being a book you mean to get back to and becomes something you carry.

It doesn’t remove you from the frontline. It meets you right where you are—in the aircraft, the ambulance, the ICU room, the quiet drive home after a hard shift.

Many people only open Scripture when life fractures—when chaos arrives without warning, when the weight becomes too heavy to carry alone.

And if I can gently offer one encouragement, it’s this:

Don’t wait for the chaos.

Open Scripture before everything breaks open. Before the storm. Before the unthinkable.

Not because it will prevent pain—but because it helps you recognize the treasure when the ground is shaken. Because when everything else feels stripped away, you’ll already know where something steady is hidden.

You don’t need to understand the whole Bible. You don’t need the right words. You don’t need consistency or a plan.

You just need to open it.

Some treasures don’t call attention to themselves. They stay hidden in ordinary ground.

And once you find one like this—once you realize what’s been there all along—you understand why you never want to let it go.

The way we train our minds and handsto provide the best care for our patients,we must train our hearts the same way.

We drill protocols.

We practice muscle memory.

We rehearse for the worst day—before it ever comes.

Not because we expect chaos—but because when it does come, there’s no time to learn from scratch.

And it’s no different with the heart.

Before the call.

Before the crisis.

Before the moment that shakes us.

We read.

We study.

We write Scripture on our hearts.

So when fear presses in, truth rises up.

“Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it.” — Book of Proverbs 4:23

Because skill carries the body—but the heart carries the weight.