#lostsons

The last few days I have had the word “Lost” floating around in my head. After a time, I began to wonder why. I decided to dig deeper. Now, I have resolved to write about what I have found.

                I think if we are all honest with ourselves, we have all experienced times when we have felt truly lost, in one way or another. I will own up first. For those that maybe do not know me as intimately, I had the blessing to grow up in a remarkably loving and stable household. I was blessed with a great education. I was blessed with exceptional friends. If you are not noticing the pattern yet, I was blessed—and still am, far more than I could ever deserve. Yet, growing up in this incredibly supportive environment, starting life with this foundation, I still managed to get lost.

                It began, in earnest, five years ago. I had graduated high school with honors and was on my way toward Cal Poly in San Luis Obispo, my dream school. Suddenly, I was removed from that supportive family and friend group I had cultivated for years. Suddenly, I was on my own, in all practical purposes. Did I have a cell phone and social networking? Yes. Did I use them to keep in touch as much as I ought to have? No. And, when I did I often lied about how I was doing, or was rather particular with details.

                To be honest, as great as my friends and family were—and still are—after high school I was ready to start somewhere new. After eighteen years under one roof and thirteen years in the same school, my stability began to feel stifling.  I was ready to meet people who did not know my story. I was ready to be whoever I wanted to be, uninhibited by my past or relationships.

                Maybe this does not sound that crazy. Maybe you have been here? Maybe you are here. All I know is what happened to me. I went to a new place, surrounded myself with new people, and managed to lose myself completely. The change was gradual at first, but enough. Under the banner of my supposed freedom and new-found liberty, I had lost my accountability, my counsel, and my footing. It became easier to go with the flow of my new acquaintances, to move with my culture, and inevitably to compromise much of what I had once believed. Suddenly, I was thinking, speaking, and acting in unfamiliar ways and along the way I hurt a lot of people. I manipulated a lot of people. I am ashamed to say I hardly cared. It was my time after all, right?

                Perhaps most frightening of all at the time, removed from my community, I realized that my religion and my God were little more to me than a social circle. Outside my shell, I realized my faith meant little to me. To be honest, I realized I had very little at the core of me. And with no anchor, I went wherever the masses went and I lost all sense of me. After a time I went further, I began to question whether or not I ever had a sense of me, or if I was only ever a reflection of my surroundings. Soon enough I saw my life for everything it was--pretense and vanity, my sad hopping from one joke to another, hoping those around me did not look hard enough, hoping they could not see how empty I felt.

Why do I bring all this up? Why share any of this at all? It certainly is not flattering. Well, I am glad you asked!

                I bring this up because I was lost. I was lost for months. I was lost in rooms filled with people. I was lost and no one ever saw it. I was lost on what felt like every existential level. I was lost and there were times it felt like freedom, and that is the most tragic irony of all of this. How many around us are lost? How many are bound, all the while thinking they are free? How long do we chase after belonging in shallower places?

                I bring this up not only to say I was lost, but that save the miraculous grace of God I would have been lost forever. That if my God did not rescue me, that if he did not draw me out of the deep mess I had made of my life, I would still be discontented at the heart of me—regardless of what my smile would say. God became real to me and became the only belonging I would ever pursue. I bring this up because understanding of this is the most important thing in my entire life.

~

                I grew up hearing Jesus talk about the Prodigal Son, many in church communities did too, I would wager. Also, if you are wondering, I looked it up for you: prodigal means wasteful or recklessly extravagant. Anyway, I grew up hearing this parable, but I never knew that some translations never call him the “prodigal” son, some call him the “lost" son.  

                Why is this important? It is important because I think it sounds a lot like me five years ago. I think it may sound like a few of you not too long ago. It may be a few of you now. Or, it may be a few out there in your community.  

                For those who have never heard or maybe have forgotten, Jesus tells a story about a man and his sons in Luke 15:11-31 (I recommend checking it out in the book; it is kind of a bestseller! Even free online as it turns out.) Still here? All right, it appears that you are electing for a paraphrase of the selections I am looking at…Here we go!

                 Once upon a time, a man has two sons, one day his younger son asks him for his inheritance early. The father splits his estate and gives his younger son his share. With the money, the younger son travels to a distant place and squanders all his money partying and living the high life. After the son had lost everything, the country he was in experienced a famine and he grew desperate. In his desperation, he hired himself out as a pig feeder (about as low as you can get). He grew hungry, while feeding animals. At his low point, the man came to his senses and reasoned his father's lowliest workers were treated better. He reasoned he would admit his mistakes and beg his father to take him on as a servant. Going back to his father, the young man did not even reach the door before his father spotted him. With compassion, the father ran to his son, held him, and kissed him. The son confessed his failings. The father told his workers to bring the best clothes for his boy—his son. His father told them to prepare a great feast to celebrate. He celebrated because his son who was lost was found again.

                I love this. I love this because this is the love of my God. He respects the free will he has given us even if that means we run off and make a mess of things, but when we have that moment of clarity and when we go to him and say, we messed up. He not only accepts us back. He not only calls us his own. He celebrates in finding us. This is amazing grace, unwarranted favor, and unfailing love.

                I have been lost and I have been found and I can attest life is better on the found side. I know I will spend my life speaking about the way my God found me. Ask me and I will never stop talking about it. But, what about all of those out there who are still lost? What about all those out there waiting to be found? Well, (and I am speaking to the church now) I will say sometimes the way God finds people is through using others. I think it is time we start living our lives with our eyes open, because lost men and women are all around us and many need unfailing love in their lives.

Until next time:

Ask yourself, are you lost? If so, reach out, because you are ready to be found.