Lost and Found
I remember exactly where I was standing, in the greeting card aisle in our small island town pharmacy, when I realized I had no idea where my mother was. I was probably three years old and it’s one of my earliest distinct memories. The fear that comes from being lost.
I remember my mom’s response when seconds later, she turned the corner to find me crying among the Hallmark well wishes. She leaned down so we were eye to eye and said in a wonderfully reassuring voice, “I will never leave you. If you ever get lost again stay where you are and I will come find you. If you walk around we might keep missing each other.”
That lost sensation is how I felt a few sleep-deprived years into motherhood. I became a mom with lots of ideas about how I would mother and what my life would look and feel like. But the hormones and the exhaustion combined with children who didn’t behave like I thought they should and a husband who thought I’d gone a little nutty, left me looking around asking, “Where am I?”
“Where is the confident woman I used to know?”
And so I stopped. I waited. Like my mother told me to do those many years ago, I waited to be found. By who or what I wasn’t quite sure. The old me? She was gone, motherhood had changed her. For a larger purpose? I felt mothering and friendships and my MOPS group were all important endeavors.
A quiet, gentle waiting until I felt a faint stirring in my soul. A whisper that was both familiar but different all at once. God was reminding me that I was His and He had his eye on me all along. I didn’t have to do anything but accept that gift of real identity. He knew where I was and reached out to remind me that I was waiting to be found by Him.
I just needed to stop wandering in circles so I wouldn’t miss God’s gentle words: I love you and you are mine.
Dear God, thank you that all I have to do is stop long enough to accept your love.
Written by Alexandra Kuykendall
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