My family used to really love South Carolina. Maybe it was the sandy coastline, 100's of beach shops, or Krispy Kreme Donuts, but something about it made it our place. Almost every year we found ourselves back on the road, with our camper hauled behind us. We would camp at a campground that was within walking distance of the beach.

One year my parents let us buy hermit crabs. We wanted turtles but my parents were scared of salmonella.LOL.

When we went to choose them, me and my siblings were fascinated by their colorful shells and creepy claws. We bought two, named one Sandy and one Spongebob, what can I say we were and still are a Spongebob loving', morning cartoon lovin' kind of people.

I loved the hermit crabs, they weren't exactly the ideal pet but they were different. One day I was holding one outside in the grass. I held my hand up in the air and watched it crawl around my fingers. Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain in my hand and on instinct sent the hermit crab flying through the air to an unknown destination. I lost it. There in the grass of my backyard, one of my hermit crabs went missing. Of course, I started crying, feeling like I was the sole reason for it's short-lived life. Me and my family spent the entire day looking through the grass for it. It was useless, it's green shell blended in with the grass perfectly. I continued life being known as the sister who lost our hermit crab.

Fast forward a whole year and it was already summer again. We hear a knock at my front door and my mom goes to answer it. Standing there with what he thought was an *unknown* species of bug was my across the street neighbor, holding our hermit crab in a container of tupperware. He had survived. Honestly, it was nothing short of a miracle. He lived through a brutally cold Michigan winter and a trip across the busy road of my neighborhood that always has cars driving by. We almost couldn't believe it.

In a strange way the story of our little hermit crab has a deeper meaning. It's funny how certain things find their way back to us, sometimes even by accident and sometimes when we don't even expect them to.

I believe that what's meant to come back to us always does. Sure, we may not always find it in the place where we exactly left it last, but eventually everything shows up when it's supposed to. So if somethings lost, an item, a part of your life, or anything for that matter, there is no harm in having a little hope that it finds it's way back to you.