as told by an 11-year-old boy who didn’t give up

It all started one regular day—in the middle of school. I was sitting at my desk when I felt something weird on my face. I reached up and realized part of the top frame on one side of my glasses had snapped. Just like that.

They didn’t fall apart completely, but the lens felt loose, and the frame looked crooked. I kind of panicked—I need my glasses to see the board, to read, pretty much to do anything at school. But I got through the day as best I could, holding them carefully in place.

When I got home and showed my mom, she said, “Don’t worry. They’re under warranty.” That was a relief. We went to the store, and they were super nice about it. They said they could order a brand new frame. Then they asked if I wanted to leave the lenses there until the new frame came in.

I shook my head right away. “I need them to see.”

So we taped the broken part together at home. It looked a little funny, and it wobbled a bit, but at least I could see. And that was good enough for now.

Then came Friday.

We were heading out the door—just like always—and I was walking down the steps in our apartment building when suddenly, one of the lenses popped right out. It bounced once, and then started rolling. Down the stairs.

I rushed after it, heart pounding. It wasn’t a huge staircase, but it felt like the lens had vanished into thin air. I searched every step, looked in all the corners. Nothing.

My siblings joined in. We swept the stairs carefully. Every step. Every crack. Still nothing.

I felt pretty upset. Not just because I couldn’t see well, but because now we couldn’t use the new frame even when it came in. I wasn’t sure what we were going to do.

Then my mom came and found us searching. She looked at me and said gently, “Don’t give up hope. Hashem can bring it back in an instant.”

So I didn’t give up.

We called the store—they had the frame ready, but without the lens, they couldn’t do anything. We started thinking maybe we’d have to buy new glasses.

We even asked the building cleaners if they had found it when they came, but they hadn’t seen anything.

Still, every time we walked down or up the stairs, my brothers and I would look again. I didn’t stop hoping. Not even after a week. Not even after two.

And then—about three weeks later—we were leaving the house, heading out for something. I walked down the stairs like always, and I glanced to the side. And there it was.

Just sitting quietly on the edge of the floor near the wall.

My missing lens.

I couldn’t believe it. We were so excited. I carefully picked it up, holding it like something really special. It didn’t even look damaged. It was just… there. Like it had waited for the right moment to show up again.

And all I could think about was what my mom had said: Hashem can bring it back in an instant.