Lost and Found

I was a bit unprepared for my wife's excitement as I scrubbed the sleep out of my hair. She burst into the bathroom shouting excitedly, ripping open the shower curtain and holding up her hand. At first I thought she was flipping me off, which was a confusing gesture to pair with such a bubbly disposition, but then she pointed to the base of her ring finger where the slightly dirtied token of our marital bliss was resting peacefully. What had been lost for nearly two weeks now, had been found.

She went on to explain that while walking the dog she saw it sitting there at the base of our steps next to a potted mum, the very spot, she said, where our pug marks the entrance to his territory daily. But thoughts of urine soaked gold didn't deter my typically germaphobe wife from immediately placing it on her finger.

Lost is a word that conjures negativity to mind. Lost means ignorance. Lost means something that isn't where it should be. Lost means angst, disappointment, anger even. But underlying lost is the burning passion of the one who lost it, the joy on my lover's face when she regained something unique to us in the universe, the gold, the diamond, the memories that would leave us wondering as we held wrinkled hands fifty years from now.

I have been far too often guilty of thinking only about the lostness of things, their presence in some urine stained gutter, their absence from where they should be. It is a revelation of my own heart displaced from the Father, the one who burns with the value of the thing to Him. The pharisee in myself has used lost to denote something beneath me. "I am something found. They should be more found like me", I say. To me the inherent worth of lost things is diminished because to me my foundness is what gives me value rather than the fondness of the Father for me whether I'm found or not, whether my own heart is close to His or not.

Luke 15:8-10 Or imagine a woman who has ten coins and loses one. Won’t she light a lamp and scour the house, looking in every nook and cranny until she finds it? And when she finds it you can be sure she’ll call her friends and neighbors: ‘Celebrate with me! I found my lost coin!’ Count on it—that’s the kind of party God’s angels throw every time one lost soul turns to God.