By Kat Silverglate © 2026

A recent conversation with a dear friend who also happens to be a metal detectorist:

Joe: Do you know the best time to find hidden treasure at the beach?

Me: No, when?

Joe: After a big storm.

Me: OK, why is that?

Joe: Storms stir up things too deep to be moved by normal currents and wind. Detectorists know there’s massive bounty beyond the machine’s reach. Category one hurricanes are a treasure hunter's dream. The beach gets wrecked, but it leaves detectable treasure in its aftermath.

Like most of us, he’s known his fair share of storms. Both the ones we inevitably experience as we age (like the death of beloved family) and the unique ones caused by the personal storms that stir our seemingly unmovable foundations.

“Since my earliest childhood, I’ve struggled with chronic anxiety. Unlike a lot of people, though; I’m pretty sure I know what precipitated it. My dad was a polio survivor. From the age of 13, he was significantly handicapped. It affected his upper body. His lung capacity was severely reduced. He couldn’t even lift his hands over his head. If my dad caught a cold, it could kill him. So, from a very young age, anything that might have made him sick was very scary. Understandably, we heard warnings about what might go wrong if we let our guard down: ‘Did you wash your hands?’ ‘Were you around anybody who was sick today?’ ‘Stay away from Daddy till your cold is completely gone.’ Over time, I developed an intensely deep sense of personal responsibility for the life-or-death nature of my dad’s daily existence.”

While some of the traditional father-son joys [like ball in the back yard] were eclipsed by the aftermath of polio’s storm, there was a sacred space where the duo enjoyed freedom from physical limitations and anxiety: snorkeling in the ocean.

“Polio had wrecked Dad’s upper body, but not his legs. They were strong. We had a saltwater aquarium at home, so we’d spend hours snorkeling in the ocean hunting for sea life to fill the tank. We didn’t know what treasure we’d see around the next corner, but we couldn’t wait to find out together. We didn’t know what was gonna show up in front of us, but it was amazing discovering whatever it was side by side. Those times in the water brought an order to our days that wasn’t the same on dry land. In the water, we weren’t navigating the obstacles of catastrophic possibilities or physical limitations. In the water, we were completely present. Free.”

As he grew up and navigated his way through college and law school and even his first law job, anxiety came and went the way normal job stressors do; bringing waves of adrenaline followed by the gentle fade of retreating tides. Anxiety was more like an arrow that pointed toward a peak moment that he knew would pass with hard work and a good night’s sleep.

“Anxiety didn’t affect my ability to function until I changed law firms. On day one, my boss plunked 14 case files down on my desk and said, ‘These are your responsibility now. You’re in charge of these matters.’ That same sense of overwhelming responsibility for the well-being of another hit me like a baseball bat to the head. I completely shut down. It was severe. I couldn’t sleep. When the phone rang, I jumped. My boss did all he could to help, but my mental state transcended his ability to reach me. Even my dad, also a lawyer, who had overcome great physical limitations, couldn’t relate to a mental limitation that he’d never experienced. ‘Nobody is sick or dying.’ he’d say. ‘The reason you have malpractice insurance is to cover you if you make a mistake.’ But my anxiety wasn’t moved by logic. After nine months of struggling, I quit my job.”

As he sought counseling and deeper understanding as to why this condition was on the radar screen of his life, he heard a therapist say, “you know you’ll need to do the work if you want to be well.”

“I realized that ‘do the work’ meant a tremendous level of trust and vulnerability that I wasn’t sure I was ready to handle. Or could handle. Or wanted to handle. Oh sure, I made progress in counseling, but I never risked the kind of vulnerability I knew would stir up things buried deep below the surface. When I shifted my career focus from an advocate responsible for, what felt like, the life or death of a client’s cause to becoming a legal recruiter, my anxiety diminished greatly. In a sense, I walked around the anxiety producing cause. This is where metal detection becomes important in my story. Detecting became my way to find order and focus, particularly in chaotic times. No matter what else was going on, when I got in the water with my machine and hunted for treasure, my cares went out the window. I was completely present.”

Joe’s stories of finding lost things on land and on the sea floor are epic. A two-cent coin from 1864 in a field in Maine. Dropped in civil war times? A woman frantically searching Ft. Lauderdale beach for her 3.5 carat diamond ring that she dropped in the water. “Hey, metal detector guy. Can you help me?” “Uh Ma’am, if you could just stand where you think you were when you dropped it, I’ll see what I can do.” Four minutes later – beep, beep, beep. “Is this what you were looking for?” Overwhelmed with gratitude, she offers to pay him. But he doesn’t want money. He just wants to delight in the moment he gets to be a part of recovering lost things. All he wants is a picture to remember her joy; and his joy at being a part of something so wonderful.

But it’s the 1969 class ring that wins his heart for most epic find and reunification story.

“This might be my favorite “found” story. I found it in Florida. It was from a California high school. The school didn’t want to search that far back so I sent an email to an investigative reporter who tracked down the yearbook and then the family. The ring holder had died, but his sister remembered the day he lost it on vacation with his parents. They were really upset. I shipped it to his daughter who now has something from someone she loved and lost – her dad. Finding something that had been buried on the beach for 50 years and giving it back to the family – it’s like bringing order to something that was never resolved.”

And as wonderful as all that is, it would be the tip of the iceberg for the treasure hunter. Because a personal CAT-5 storm would come that he didn’t expect and the stuff under the surface of his own life – some of the vulnerability he so resisted when anxiety rocked his world – would now come to the surface for others to see.

But not reluctantly. Quite willingly.

“A friend and highly successful, well-respected lawyer took his own life. He was the last person you would suspect was struggling mentally. By all outward appearances, he seemed to have it all together. It rocked the legal community. It rocked me. I called the president of the state bar and shared my private struggle with anxiety. I volunteered to help create a program that would give mental illness a face. I desperately wanted lawyers who felt lost in anxiety and depression to know they aren’t alone and don’t have to be ashamed or embarrassed of something others can’t see. I wanted to be vulnerable for them.”

Workshop after workshop, that’s what he does. Stands in front of lawyers and opens up about the dangers of leaving yourself hidden on the floor of your personal ocean; often opening up about some of the hidden stuff on the floor of his. Offering practical resources and a magnifying glass on the truth that we are all broken, just different broken. Even when others can’t see it or don’t understand. And in doing so, he finds treasure.

“About four times a year, I get a call from a lawyer who wants to talk about their struggle. They usually apologize for taking so much of my time. I stop them and I say the words another lawyer said to me when I was having a hard time – ‘don’t apologize, this is the most important call I will take all day. You’re not alone.’ As you already know Kat, it was your husband Spencer who shared that vulnerable time with me. He didn’t make me feel like a bother. He was just with me listening to the stuff the storm had stirred up below the surface. The stuff I kept hidden. Pointing me up.”

Just as physical storms do, the storms of life inevitably unearth buried things. Stir up the bottom we aren’t sure we want disturbed. A friend dies. We get diagnosed with a disease. We lose a job. Get divorced. And suddenly stuff comes up to the surface. Stuff we can’t keep down. Stuff we are tempted to avoid until we can’t.

The Treasure Hunter and the Found Treasure

The Scriptures talk about treasure in countless ways using wildly creative metaphors that lodge themselves like gems in our souls until they are ready to be seen. One of those metaphors gives us the perspective of the treasure hunter. The finder. It’s the widow who loses a hugely valuable coin and refuses to stop searching until she finds it. Unearths it. Holds it securely again. “And when she finds it, she calls her friends and neighbors together and says, ‘Rejoice with me; I have found my lost coin.” The parable magnifies a picture of the Lord’s joy – the finder’s joy -- so great that the angels are rejoicing over the lost thing that is found. A treasure returned to the original owner. A stunning picture of the joy of order after the chaos of lostness. Luke 15:8-10.

When the treasure metaphor comes at us from a different angle -- from the perspective of the found one -- there’s a twist. The finder doesn’t force the lost one to earn it. To prove his worth to earn the treasure. Instead, the found one finds himself joyfully willing to give up everything he has to receive something far greater than anything he has already worked for and tried to attain. We see it in Matthew 13:44. “The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again, and then in his joy went and sold all he had and bought that field.”

It isn’t a picture of unwilling relent or forced repentance. It’s a picture of the utter joy of realizing that all our striving pales in comparison to the treasure God wants us to receive: the presence of the Lord in our hearts as we move around each next corner of life together unafraid to see what’s ahead. Unafraid of what the storm stirs up because He’s with us as we sort treasure from trash. Discovering the treasure of presence with the Lord of the storm in our search for order in a chaotic world.

Our Mobile Mission:

Your physical Mobile Mission Pack contains four sea turtle stickers. Use each one to remind you to meditate on the following four questions this month. If you aren’t getting Mission Packs in the mail and would like them [free each month], go to our contact link and let us know:

1. STIRRED UP:

Storms dredge up things that are buried. Often, like a turtle, we pull our head into our shells and hide. Do you trust that if God is allowing it to be stirred and exposed, He will move with you as you sort through it? Metal detectorists sort through a ton of junk to sift the treasure from the trash. A pastor, a trained counselor, a faith-filled friend are all great swimming mates as we sort treasure from trash with kingdom eyes.

2. FOUND TREASURE BURIED:

Perhaps you know what it means to be found but you’ve started living beneath the surface of a vibrant life. Navigating around catastrophic possibilities and limitations more than being present with the Lord in the storm. More than noticing who He’s sent to retrieve you from your hidden places or to swim with you as you seek order in the chaos of life?

3. YOUR RADAR DETECTOR:

Is there someone who needs you to notice they are not OK? Who needs you to pick up the phone. Who needs you to pray. The Scripture says, where your treasure is, there you will find your heart. When we treasure lost people, our heart goes to them. Letting someone know they are not alone may be the most important call you make all day.

4. THE JOY IN THE FINDER AND THE FOUND:

Does the found discussion confound you? Ask the Lord of the storm to open the eyes of your heart to see Him clearly. You are His treasure.

Amen? Amen!