lost things

I’ve lost my quilted pink vest. I looked for it half-heartedly a couple of weeks ago but when it wasn’t where it was supposed to be, I grew alarmed and looked thoroughly, then most thoroughly. It’s no where.

Yesterday I checked the lost and found at church. It wasn’t there either. So now I’ll need to check all the places I’ve been in the last while–because I hate to lose stuff.

A week ago our 19-year-old son moved away from home. It’s odd, but I have the same feeling about him as I have about that vest. He feels lost to me.

I know why. He’s not exactly walking the ‘straight and narrow’ at the moment, and though it was worrying to see him slide from one forbidden thing to another when he lived at home, at least I could keep track of him – a little.

No more. I talked to him once in the past week, and that because I picked up the phone and called his cell.

I know the feeling of wanting your independence, and I don’t begrudge him that. It’s just the lostness from our influence and the not-knowing what he’s up to now that I think about.

I have one consolation. My God also hates to lose His things. Our son is His; he gave his heart to Jesus years ago. So last night I read again the stories Jesus told in Luke 15:1-10. And I got the assurance my Jesus won’t rest till all His sheep are safely back in the fold. I know right now He’s after my dear black sheep, for "..this is the will of him who sent me, that I shall lose none of all that he has given me, but raise them up at the last day." - John 6:39.

Now do you suppose if I "lit the lamp, swept the house and searched carefully" yet again, my pink vest would be found as well?