I’m never going to be able to get that back, I thought miserably. I was looking at a piece of one of my son’s toys that had fallen behind a heavy set of cubbies. I tried to dislodge it with a mop handle and a curtain rod, but to no avail. The piece, a plastic little tuba, was well and truly stuck. And now the toy was missing one of its musical components, like an orchestra minus one musician. It was an expensive toy too, which irritated me even further. Even if my son didn’t play with it much, I liked the toy, and as with most things I care about, I wanted it in a complete, pristine state.
Honestly, I can’t remember whether I prayed to God for help or not, which is what I typically do when I lose things. I figure it’s an act of faith and affection to do so, assuming He can help me locate what I am looking for and that He cares enough about it to communicate with me. Just a few days earlier I had torn apart a drawer where I keep jewelry, searching for a necklace that escaped me. Hours later, as I was driving, I suddenly had a crystal clear image of a toiletry bag hanging in the bathroom. I had never unpacked it after our last trip. When I got home, sure enough, it was there. And I was amazed that I had actually heard from God accurately about such a small but important thing (I had purchased the necklace while pregnant with our son).
Just this morning I came across the parable in which Jesus explains that the shepherd who loses one sheep from his flock of ninety-nine will diligently seek it, leaving the others behind “in open country” (Luke 15:4). And when he finds it, the shepherd rejoices over it more than the rest who have remained safe and sound the whole time. Jesus says, “There will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance” (Luke 15:7).
I confess, I have always felt uncomfortable with this parable. Not the ending—where Jesus emphasizes how precious a wayward soul is to God. Rather, I fret over the risk the shepherd takes with the sheep who seem open to attack while the watchman goes haring after the stray. Was it just assumed in that time that shepherding was a joint effort, with a group of individuals going out together so that predicaments like this would be covered? How easy would it be for a predator to make its way to the flock while the shepherd was away? Who would protect them? The flock would be stuck in a space as tight as the one my son’s tuba was in, unable to get away.
That’s me, always kicking the tires, wanting to see how fair God is, as if I were in any position to judge. Maybe I check for chinks in the armor because I so often don’t feel safe, and so am constantly on the lookout for ways I could be harmed. Psychologists call this catastrophic thinking, and I have it pretty bad. If you ever suffered trauma—which I have—it often leaves this particular imprint on you. Always living in a state of hyper-vigilance, finding it hard to relax in settings that are perfectly safe.
Thankfully, God has a heart for those who have experienced PTSD. We are the lost sheep who have wandered away in our fear, unable to find our way back in the thicket of thoughts that ensnares us.
One of the things God has given me to challenge my catastrophic thinking is the way my husband eats. He digs into his meals with gusto, really enjoying the plate in front of him. It sounds silly, I know, but while I tend to nibble, one eye on the door and another on our autistic son, he relaxes and enjoys his meal. I imagine Jesus ate this way when someone prepared something tasty just for him.
When my husband acts as if there is nothing to be afraid of, chewing, sipping, and swallowing, something in me relaxes. I feel like I can take my cues from him and let my guard down a bit.
And when hitting air turbulence on a plane, I watch the flight attendants. If they appear unruffled, I assume that we’re not in any real danger, despite how many alarm bells are going off in my head.
Back to the little tuba. Before I gave up and started figuring out how to move the monstrously heavy cubbies, I tried one more thing. My mother had given me a pole with two hooked ends—an implement senior citizens use that she picked up at a tag sale. To my surprise and delight, the pole fit easily into the tiny space and the hook grabbed my prize and pulled it out of its tight spot. Next thing I knew, I was holding it in my hand, ready to return it to its place with the other instruments. Mission accomplished.
All you needed was the right tool, a voice in my head said. And my heart immediately leapt at the comment, knowing instinctively that this statement applied to so many other situations in life. Was the image of the toiletry bag a tool of some sort, and if so, how would I use it? That recovered necklace spoke volumes, but what was it saying to me specifically?
One thing comes to mind. When I mentioned PTSD earlier, I was referring to childhood abuse suffered at the hands of my father. He has been dead quite a few years now, but it has taken decades of ministry and therapy to try to rid myself of the marks he left on me. Recently, I was speaking with the horse therapist who works with my son and is a believer, and he said, “God’s favor is on you.” It was kind of out of the blue, but my heart leapt at this comment and grasped it for dear life.
After years of being despised as a child—truly hated by one who gave me life—being cherished by a Father is a novel concept. I can hardly take it in.
God knows when I bought that missing necklace—at the start of my son’s life, when we had no clue of the autism diagnosis that lurked around the corner. And now, twelve years later, I have reclaimed it again. It is as if God is using it as a tool to imprint a message on my heart: I was there for you in the beginning, and I will be there for you all the days of your son’s life. I will always go chasing after him. You are not in this alone.
How much easier and joy-filled my life would be if I had the proper tools to face my problems, whether they are about my own mental health or about raising a special needs child? How do I get these tools, these small gifts of grace that produce a lot of mileage in terms of revealing God’s character and attitude towards me? Could it be as simple as asking for help on a daily basis, whether I am thinking of something specific or not? Jesus promised that the Father would give us anything we want if we abide in him, love one another, and keep his commandments (John 15). What this boils down to for me is two words: Remember Me.
I had to remember that my mom gave me that special hook a while back, even though I was a little dubious about its usefulness at the time. I had to remember our last trip to find my missing jewelry. Every morning I have to remember that, despite how I may be feeling, God loves and favors me. Period. Then I have to remember at certain points along my day to look up to heaven and ask God into whatever situation I am facing, good or bad. Remembering seems to be a series of little pauses more than giant gestures. Can I forge these little moments? Can I try?
Right now what I want to remember is that whatever looks impossible to me becomes something I can overcome with the right tool in my hand, something that often involves another person having shown me grace of some kind. Don’t throw out those hooks because you can’t see a purpose for them in the here and now. They might be just the thing later.
And do hold onto those precious times God is showing you that He really is listening to you. He loves to answer His beloved children’s prayers in a way that blows their minds regarding how much He loves them.
Whether you are the one stray sheep or part of the ninety nine, know that He will guard you and keep you. Always.
The Lord is my shepherd
I shall not want
He makes me lie down in green pastures
He leads me beside still waters
He restores my soul
He leads me down paths of righteousness
For His name’s sake
Even though I walk through the valley
of the shadow of death
I will fear no evil
For You are with me
For Your rod and Your staff
They comfort me
You prepare a table before me
In the presence of my enemies
You anoint my head with oil
My cup overflows
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
All the days of my life
And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
(Psalm 23, ESV)
Amen.
