found and found

Being found brings a sense of euphoria!

We were visiting Disneyland (California) and I was, let's say, about 10.  We were there, I believe, because I was convinced that the 6 million dollar man was real and that my father's strength paled in comparsion.  After enough conversations with my dad around this idea of mine he decided to plan a family trip.  The trip, though fun, had a purpose: to prove that the 6 million dollar man was not a man of six million dollar strength.

It was a great trip.  I got to cross the 'red sea' as it parted before my very eyes.  I survived a shark attack by none less than JAWS himself.  Yes, I even got to pick up and throw one of those huge boulders the 6 million dollar man so easily launched during each episode.  Oh yes, I also experienced the plane crash of Airplane and came out unscathed.  Boy hood illusions shattered reality now the vision to come.

Of the wonderful memories of that family trip, there is one that I remember more vividly than all the rest.  The memory of the time I got lost.  To this day I do not know how I got lost (that's usually how getting lost begins), nor what steps I took to contribute to my own 'lostness' (though I am sure there were many).

At any rate, one moment I am standing beside my entire family and the next I am awash in a sea of humanity - none of whom I recognized and all of whom I feared.  Yes, feared.  Not only was I lost, but I was lost in California.  Part of the problem was that I had spent my first 10 years of life in a small town called Hartsville in the small state of South Carolina.  Whenever anyone mentioned California, New York or Utah (go figure) there was always a long pause.  It was the type of pause full of meaning.  You know, the one where everyone is silent and knows that all should pray often for those or that just mentioned?  This was my idea of California . . . a long pause in great need of prayer and I was doing both at the time.  Here I am a lost boy in a sea of people walking nowhere fast looking for one person in particular: my dad!  I wanted to be found; not lost.  I yearned to be found.  I longed to be found.  All my energy was pouring into my only desire at that moment: to be FOUND! 

My thoughts wandered to places unkind.  What would become of me?  Where would I live?  Why did they leave me?  Where should I go?  Boy that hot dogs looks good (okay, I lean a tad toward the a.d.d. side of life).  Just when I thought my situation was hopeless - when I knew I could not get myself out of my own 'lostness' - I felt the warm weight of a loving hand press gently on my shoulder.  Before I looked up I heard, 'son, here you are.' 

That was it.  That was all I needed to hear. 

I was found by the only one capable of truly finding me.  And, though I was found by him, the first words out of my mouth were, 'daddy, I found you.'  He didn't bother to argue or correct my blatant misrepresentation of the facts.  He just held me close and carried me to my family - my home.  He allowed me to be 'found and found'.

In the Gospel of John Phillip has a similar story.  If you check out John chapter one you will see that Jesus was looking for followers.  The text clearly highlights the fact that Jesus found Phillip and called him to himself.  It is a great moment for Phillip and one is easily caught up in his story.  Quickly Phillip found Nathaniel.  He told Nathaniel to come and meet this Jesus - the one that he (Phillip) had found.  Huh?  Did Phillip get that wrong?

Yes . . .  no . . . err . . .

Phillip does not appear to be on the lookout for Jesus.  In fact, quite the opposite. He is living his life minding His business - he didn't  realize he was lost.  But, when Jesus finds Him it (in Phillip's mind) as if Phillip finds Jesus too.    Jesus might have corrected him, but that wasn't his style.  No, he simply allowed that Phillip was 'found and found.'  What a savior, what  story.  I am His.  Yes, He found me . . . I found him too.  So, yes; I was was lost but now I am found.  In fact, I am 'found and found.'

Desiring Home!

Biz