Lost

The year was1968. We lived on Marvin Avenue in Statesboro, across GA 67 from Georgia Southern campus. Melanie age 4, had found a friend, Randy who lived across the street, and was as adventurous as she. The dynamics of our two households usually ran quite smoothly. Each day at lunch, Randy’s mom, Sherry drove downtown—a mile and a half—to get Randall, her husband. I, on the other hand simply walked home for lunch from my campus office across the street .

One day, Sherry called Paige to confirm that both Randy and Melanie were playing at our house. They were not. Neither was at our house. Seized by panic, both moms went into hyper-mom-mode. Searching in our small neighborhood for the two transgressors became top priority. They fanned out searching but—to no avail.

Sherry had to leave to go downtown and get Randall for lunch. She left Paige still searching the neighborhood. About 45 minutes later, Sherry drove up—with two sheepish preschoolers in the rear seat—looking like two whipped puppies. Paige then heard the back story; the two culprits had walked nearly a mile along GA 67 highway to the city recreation center. As Sherry drove to pick up Randall, she had noticed two excited kids playing on the playground slide. Shocked, pleased, angry, she stopped and crammed them into her car.

How are parents to follow through, dealing with such a frightful—albeit thankful ending of such an experience!? It stirs turbulent emotional upheaval.You want to kill them for their intractable deed, while at the same time you want to hug them too tightly to breathe.(Yes, those two opposing emotions can live in your brain at the same time)!

When they got home Paige explained to Melanie how dangerous and frightening their escapade had been. Melanie defended their deed saying, “But Mommy, we held hands all the way down the highway!” I do not remember the consequences we all agreed upon. I do know we did not kill them. I do know they both grew up into wonderful adults. Oh, and no parent served prison time.

There is a wonderful lost-and-found story in the Gospel of Luke. that lends itself to to use and abuse of meaning. Yet, there is one segment that never ceases to inspire assurance and hope in me. You know the story. A young badass extorts money from his father and then disappears. He was not heard from for what seems like decades. Nevertheless, his aging daddy trudges down the lane to the gate and stands staring into the horizon. We don’t know how many sandals he wore out keeping vigil. Then—-one day—in the distance there appears a straggling image lumbering shakily in the trail. Only a daddy would recognize that gait. The father hikes up his galluses and (I’ll bet he had the same turbulent emotional upheaval I mentioned earlier) and yet he runs, yes, runs! to embrace his long lost son. Love makes that possible.

©Copyright Willis H. Moore 2023