Losing things is a nuisance that seems forever mine. It's
the minor things I lose, things I seem to have given myself permission to be
less attentive to keeping found. I use to be notorious for misplacing my car
keys. Now days, it’s my glasses. I even have three pair. One on the side table by my chair at our home
in Florida. One pair at the side of my chair at Quiet Rest and a pair that
float with me throughout the day. Most days I will at some point haphazardly
place them somewhere near the last project I had to using them and become
frustrated trying to remember what I was doing when I needed them. I’ve been known to ask Bettyann if she’s seen
my glasses. It’s not been seldom that she
will say, “You’re wearing them!” Or more likely, "They're hanging on your shirt neck, right under your chin, under the goatee; I wish you'd cut."
Thus, habitually missing glesses are little more than a
nuisance to me because finding them is usually as simple as collecting my memory
of where I have been, what I have been doing—and there is always Bettyann! To her,
however, lost glasses are a source of unnecessary frustration. She has worked
patiently on the problem; she provides glass holders at various places around
the house where I have been known to use them. Most days this seems to do the trick, except in
my shop where I’m on my own.
Other days I more resemble the woman in Jesus's parable
tearing apart the house to find the lost coin, lighting a lamp, sweeping the
house, searching carefully until she finds it. And perhaps this is part of my
unflustered attitude with lost glasses—I know I will eventually find them.
In fact, the only time I lose them is when I am comfortably in the confines of house
or shop.
In two different parables, Jesus compares the sentiments
that accompany the person who has lost something to the sentiments of the
heavens over the one who is lost. When the woman in the parable has found the
coin she was searching for, "she calls her friends and neighbors together
and says, 'Rejoice with me; I have found my lost coin.'" "In the same
way," Jesus concludes, "there is rejoicing in the presence of the
angels of God over one sinner who repents" Luke 15:8-10.
My lost glasses or pencils or names of people do not evoke
in me such sentiments. And I wonder how easy it is to carry a similar lightness
about a world buried in injustice, lost in pain, distraction, or indulgence.
How easy is it to give myself permission to be inattentive to so much around
me, to see a world of need as something minor, to view my own wandering as a
problem that will work itself out like lost keys? No doubt the heavens grieve
over my inattention even as they grieve over the wandering prodigal.
I was reacquainted recently with the pain of longing after
something lost. Unlike misplaced glasses, I was neither confident that it would
turn up nor was the thought of a "spare" comforting in the least.
Sentimentally, it was irreplaceable and I grieved its loss. I found myself
recounting all of the memories associated with it. My mind was haunted by where
it might be, whose hands it might be in, whether I would ever see it again. And
when I found it, like the woman in Jesus's parable, I celebrated!
I notice that when I lose something dear to me and find myself
hoping against hope for its return, I am given the slightest illustration of
God's longing to gather me unto Himself and His grief when I will not have anything
to do with it. When I read of Jesus speaking of lost sheep, I see Him providing
an image of the personal nature of God's love for each face I pass on the way
to the hardware store, each child I overlook, each person to which I have given
myself permission to be inattentive. "Suppose one of you has a hundred
sheep and loses one of them. Does he not leave the ninety-nine in the open
country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it? And when he finds it, he joyfully puts it on
his shoulders and goes home. Then he calls his friends and neighbors together
and says, 'Rejoice with me; I have found my lost sheep'" Luke 15:3-6.
Father, God, I recognize You to be the Great Shepherd! The
One Who has been in pursuit and searching my heart for close to seventy three
years. I thank You that Your arm has never been too short to save! I concurred with the psalmist’s confession,
"I have strayed like a lost sheep." You have convinced me that the
heavens rejoice over my heart that recognizes its need to be found. Thank You,
Father that when I have strayed from the Your will or strayed in my attention
to a world in need of being found, You will never quit searching. You will pick
me up in Your careful arms and carry me into spiritual maturity. Amen
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