I awake today to the sound of a steady, cold rain, and as I listen to that chill, I give thanks.  For five days, a little eight year old boy, Robert Wood, was lost.  He lives his life through the lens of autism, and he was separated from his family as they enjoyed an afternoon walk together in the beauty of autumn.  I wonder if, like so many children, he saw something that called to his spirit, and he followed that calling… that butterfly or dancing leaf or light sparkling through the trees.  He wandered away, and in a heartbeat, life changed.

He was lost for five days.  He was lost for five nights.  And over the course of the week, the search evolved.  I heard that every branch of the military was represented.  I understand that the National Guard, the American Red Cross, state troopers, and the National Organization for Missing Children all showed up.  Then there are the stories of the volunteers, your average citizen, who took this to heart, and wanted to help.  Yesterday, it was reported that 6,000 people wore the badge of honor labeled ‘volunteer.’

And yesterday, Robert was found.  He was alive, was taken to the hospital, and there he was reunited with his family.  Local news crews were jubilant.  Phones began to ring from household to household and people filled with emotion couldn’t wait to share the amazing news that this child had been found.  Candlelight vigils had been taking place all week, praying for his safe return, and last night there was to be one more to celebrate the gift of Robert and the miracle of his return.

There is a Biblical story about the Good Shepherd.  In this story, the Shepherd has a flock of 100 sheep.  At some point, he realizes there are only 99.  He easily could have said, “Ah, well, what’s one lamb.”  But this is not his thinking at all, and he leaves the 99 to search for the one.  The parable goes on to say that there is great rejoicing and celebrating when the one is found.

There is also a beautiful passage of scripture found in Isaiah chapter 11.  It would be good for all of us to read it and see what it might mean to each of us, but these particular words are buzzing in my mind today.  “In that day the wolf and the lamb will lie down together, and the leopard and the goats will be at peace.  Calves and fat cattle will be safe among the lions, and a little child shall lead them all.” (Isaiah 11: 6)

We all wanted to find Robert.  But what actually happened is that he found us.  He led us to what Spirit yearns for in this human creation… selflessness, compassion, unity, grace, and love.  Let’s remember this.  Let’s continue the search by standing together, by staying our focus on what truly matters, and by living our own quest as children who are cherished, deeply cherished, by a Spirit that is never lost to us.

Today as the rain falls down, as the snow lights gently in places colder than this… may we find our boots, may we light a candle and quietly may we tend the kindling that Robert laid for us, and carry on.

One evening a few years back, I was helping to serve dinner at my church to a group of folks who were without food or shelter.  We’d worked really hard to make a nice meal, to have small gifts for the group, and a warm place to spend the night.  It felt like important work and ministry.  Before the food was served, I was asked to offer the blessing.  I was happy to do so.  Afterwards, as the line formed and the servers dished up the hearty meal, a guest came to me.  He wanted to know if I lived in a home of my own.  And I shared that I did.  He then wanted to know why God allowed me to have that but not him.

So, what was I to say?  Here I was a little do-gooder with a life of ease, and before me stood a man wrestling with life’s struggles and questions that matter deeply to the soul.  I don’t know if what came out of my mouth was right or wrong, helpful or harsh.  I don’t know if it meant anything to him, but to this very day the words continue to speak to me.  I simply said, “I don’t have an answer to that question, but what I do know is that there is a man sleeping outside in the cold tonight that wonders why you have a warm meal and bed upon which to sleep.”

I have a small piece of paper I keep in my wallet.  My Dad gave it to me probably close to thirty years ago.  I don’t know where the quotation came from, but in Dad’s handwriting are these words:  If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain [proud of yourself] and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

For thirty years and counting, I am learning not to compare myself to others.  I am learning to be grateful for what I do have.  I am learning to trust that sometimes just enough or almost enough is enough.  I grow weary and discouraged when I notice all that I do not have and wish to have, but I am strong when I return my eyes and heart to the gifts before me.  When I find myself thinking the words, “It’s not fair,” about any number of things, I remember the man before me, and I stop and give thanks for my life, right here in my own shoes.

Some do have luxurious lives.  Some have lives fraught with famine and discrimination and detriment.  But on some level, we all have both.  It is wise from time to time, to examine how we view wealth and how we view poverty, and to tend both aspects of our own lives.  We all have need.  We all have yearnings.  And I say to that, “Let the dreaming and the imagining lead us on.”  But by whatever measure we feel poor, may that keep us here, in this moment, until we grow wiser, deeper, and more available to what gratitude can offer.   Once we arrive here, we are sure to find we have plenty with more than enough to spare.  We will also be reminded that it’s not about what we own, but about what we eagerly give away.

Spend your fears, your trials, your heaviest burden on gratitude.  You won’t be disappointed.

This leaf waited for me.  It sprouted, grew strong and green way up high.  It weathered rainstorms and wind, heat and drought.  It held on tight during the earthquake and the hurricane.  It watched me come and go, watched me walk back and forth to my mailbox hundreds of times.  It witnessed my face lifted in joy.  It watched my shoulders heavy with burden.  It held tight, and it waited.

And today, something shifted or something inspired.  A sacred whisper urged, “Now.”  And of all the leaves falling and all the leaves on the ground, this one is the one I saw.  This is the one that came to me in this time and in this place.  In its ancient rite of transformation, of dying, it came to heal me and remind me that there is beauty even here.  It came to me.  I came to it.  And in that union, we were made ready for what is next. 

Don’t be dismayed.

Holy hands are everywhere.

The priest last night said he has missionary friends who always sign their letters, “In God’s Heart.”  That really struck me.  What if we were to fully realize such a message?  What if, no matter what the circumstance, no matter what the label is that stays attached to us, no matter what our socio-economic state, no matter our ability or disability, no matter our understanding of faith or lack thereof, we kept within us at all times the life-affirming knowledge that we are in God’s heart?  How might governments change?  How might school systems and health systems and care for our elders change?  How might the distribution of wealth and power change?  And closer yet, what might happen within families?  What new intimacies might occur?  What might give way in the unhealthy drives towards addictions and fame and fortune if above, under, and over all were the peace of acceptance?

A young friend and I were playing a word association game recently.  You know, she’d say moon and I’d say stars.  She’d say dew and I’d say wet.  Then she said, rich.  And I said, fun!  Of course, I was thinking purely of money, how I have so little of it, how I live in this day to day wonderment of how in the world the next bill will be paid… and how absolutely fun it would be to be free of such constant pressure.  It would be fun to be able to buy gifts for friends, to repay my Dad for the four new tires he bought to replace the almost explosive tires I’d been riding on.  It would be fun to make plans for a vacation.  It would be fun to feel I could actually toss some cash towards my daughter to help her as she begins the adult life which seems so much about earning money.

But then, the realization comes… I am in the heart of God.  My daughter is in the heart of God.  My father is in the heart of God, as are my friends, as are we all.  I’m not rich in the financial sense and chances are pretty high that wealth will never be my lot in life.  But here is my freedom.  If I am indeed in the heart of God, the weight of holding and clinging to and acquiring more of that which is sparkly and shallow, falls away… and what I am left with is everything.  This isn’t some mystical wish or sweet, sappy dream.  This is truth.  This is gift.  This is a place where I’ve never been, a place I have fought.  I have cursed the instability.  I have fired the institutions that have wounded me.  I have pushed to persevere, to prove myself, to claim a life I have not known how to claim.  Lots of tears and screaming and war within until finally I hear, I return to, I am born into the deeper knowing that I am in the heart of God.

Like leaves, green for seasons, changes come, and then there is a letting go.  Without being told, without instructions, without money or glory or attention… the leaves fall freely with sighing and joy.  Can we explain this?  I don’t think so.  Do we need to?  No, not really.  But we can show up to our own processes and explorations.  We can find our way to the intrinsic being of our own souls and shake hands with that which frightens us, that which belittles us, that which allows and even invites us to the starving, and say, “Come.  Sit with me awhile.  I’ll befriend you and in doing so, we shall find ourselves whole.”