The lights are dim, with the morning sun scraping its way through the clouds, into these basement windows. My coffee cools in the cup beside me, and Augustana and Mat Kearney seep through the speakers. In these early hours of starting my day, I’ve just read something that’s made me weep.
Finding Cheryl is written by a dear friend of mine from college. We met through our college ministry, played flag football together, and shared such wonderful times during my last years in TX. Michelle is her name, and she is a person who will instantly open her life to you. Through her smile, you realize what being welcome feels like. She opened her home, her family, her joys to us, to me during those years. It was one semester where we seemed to be at her house non stop. It may have been too short a time, but I will always look back on that time with such elation and fondness. In particular, Michelle and her parents were instrumental in walking through a rough patch of life. When my nephew was diagnosed with William’s Syndrome just short months after his birth, the Clarke family planted themselves by my side, always seeking me out at church to ask the latest news on surgeries, health, his smile. They were so intentional, and still are to this day when I get the rare opportunity to speak to them, in asking about my sweet Gabe. I long for them to meet him one day. It is something I pledge to make happen, for they fastened to his life with prayer and by encouraging and supporting me.
I show you pieces of Michelle and her family, because it is what she wrote about her mother, which I read this morning, that brought tears to my eyes. I will not give you any details, because I want and encourage you to visit her blog and read for yourself. (Click the link above)
I began writing this morning, to speak about what it means to be found. To spend a life or even significant moments, aching to be seen, longing to find that which fits the missing puzzle pieces of your self. The act of being found creates emotions indescribable in their truest forms. Experience alone can resonate the magnitude joy. Even something as trivial as a game of hide and seek as a child…think to when you were the last one found, or it seemed as if an hour went by and no one had come for you yet. You begin to wonder if they are still trying to find you, if you were remembered, if the search is still happening. You make small noises to give yourself away, to try and hurry up the process, to “play along” but with a little help to the seeker, for surely they’re lost themselves. Finally, you are found. You weren’t forgotten, you just found a really good hiding place to tuck yourself into.
This is a game, but can’t this spill over into representing life? Into matching so much about how we operate in our relationships today?
There is so much I can say. I can fill pages with what my mind has thought upon this topic. I put myself into a time crunch and now have to rush to work. But there is much to say. I am not done. Because to be seen – to be found – is something so near to my soul, that even the most descriptive words cannot encompass nor express. Am I in such a grand hiding place that the search has been called off? Or is the moment of being discovered near me, perhaps even here long ago, I’ve just not come out from behind the wall to realize I was found long ago?