I Am Lost

My people have been lost sheep; their shepherds have led them astray and caused them to roam on the mountains. They wandered over mountain and hill and forgot their own resting place.

—Jeremiah 50:6

For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost.

—Luke 19:10

The clock on the dash of my Toyota 4-Runner flashed 11:38 p.m.

Well past my 9:00 p.m. bedtime. Ahem.

With each mile I drove in the dark, my only thought was of sleep. The warmth of my cozy pajamas. The comfort of sliding beneath a hefty cocoon of blankets and comforters and succumbing to the slumber I’d been holding at bay for two and a half hours. Exhausted didn’t even begin to describe it.

One look out my windshield, however, confirmed I was lost.

Driving through the Rocky Mountains is beautiful in the daytime. Thick forests, towering peaks, curving roads, and surprise glimpses of wildlife. Breathtaking in every way.

Driving through those same mountains at night, however, is another thing altogether. It’s like navigating a maze blindfolded. What hours before had seemed welcoming had now become frightening, as if nature itself might swallow me up and no one would ever know.

No street lights illuminated the road. Clouds dimmed the moon and stars, leaving just my car headlights to find the way. A cabin and writing retreat waited on the other side of this adventure, I reassured myself. But only if I found my way there. I searched for signs and landmarks, but nothing appeared familiar in the dark.

It’s a tough thing to admit you’re lost, especially when you think you should know where to go. I had directions to the mountain cabin, had even been there before. But a change in scenery and a lack of both sleep and light made it difficult to find my way.

In all, my lostness lasted no more than a half hour. A long half hour, mind you, but by the time I crawled into bed, I’d already forgotten the fear of losing my way.

I’ve stumbled through seasons of darkness that plagued me far longer than thirty minutes. And the terror of those months and years isn’t something I’ll soon forget.

It’s one thing to be lost on a mountain road. It’s another thing to be lost in your own life. To end up someplace you never dreamed, taking in scenery you don’t recognize, wishing you were anywhere but here. To wake up one day and discover you have no idea where you are, where you’re going, or even how to get back to the life you once had.

You’ve probably experienced moments like this.

When a move to another state or city drops you in the middle of a neighborhood and community with which you’re completely unfamiliar.

When you first drive home from the hospital with eight pounds of bundled little person buckled in the back seat and you realize—gasp!—that those parenting books you read didn’t really prepare you for the adventure of parenting.

When a church endures a crisis or, heaven forbid, a brutal split, leaving you without a safe, spiritual family.

When your kids grow up and move out, forcing you into a season of empty nesting that feels as foreign as parenting did once upon a time.

The examples are endless, but the feeling is much the same. Lost in unfamiliar territory. Anxious. Desperate to find your way through the wilderness to a place that feels like home.

It has taken me decades, but I’m finally starting to understand. For too long, when circumstances left me feeling lost, I rolled up my sleeves to take control. To work hard and move to a place of my choosing, one that felt more comfortable, more predictable, more safe. But as soon as I approached a new destination, it too disappeared over the horizon. Always out of reach, always beyond my grasp.

But now I know. Home isn’t a place I pursue or a destination I achieve.

Home is Jesus.

And resting in who He is, right here.

Even in this new neighborhood and unfamiliar community, Jesus is my home and I take Him wherever I go.

Even through parenting’s many land mines, God is the single best resource for how to parent my children. He’ll give me exactly the wisdom I need when I need it.

Even when churches fail and fall apart, God can heal a riff-raff collection of lost people and show them how better to live.

Home is allowing Him to lead me into new and unexpected territory, trusting that although I may find it unfamiliar, He has already gone before. He knows the way, and He won’t leave me lost and alone.

It’s not easy to admit our lostness. It’s tempting to put both hands on the wheel and determine our own way. But the danger of that is our knack for remaining lost.

If you’re lost in a place you never imagined you’d end up, admit you need some help to get back home. It’s the first step, like slowing down to ask for directions. We have access to a God who knows how to get us headed the right direction. We don’t need a map or GPS. We don’t have to scour the road for signs and landmarks.

Our God is here, now.

That means we’re already home.

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound,

That saved a wretch like me!

I once was lost but now I’m found,

Was blind but now I see.

—JOHN NEWTON, “AMAZING GRACE”