October 24, 2008
In September I shared that my daughter had lost one of her favorite toys, a small doll in the likeness of Cinderella from the Disney version of the fairy tale. Interestingly, I’ve been asked on several occasions by people that I had not met previously if Cinderella had ever reappeared. Always I’ve had to answer rather glumly that she hadn’t. But it seems right and proper to bring an update to that scenario: our prodigal Cinderella has indeed finally returned… it took me lifting a cedar hope chest to find it, but our three-year-old daughter has had a very happy reunion. She and all her other princess dollies have had quite a celebration.
Of course, not all lost objects of our affection make it back to us. There have been things that our children have lost that have never been found, and I must admit that there have been things that I too have lost that I’ve never seen again. They’re somewhere but I just don’t know where to look.
But then there are things that are lost to us and we know exactly where they are. Every time we visit the downtown library, our young daughter pauses to stand on and stare into the large storm drain in the concrete parking lot. A very large and heavy iron grill covers it, but each space in the grid is nearly two inches in diameter: just right for small possessions to slip through no matter how prized they may be. If I remember to do so, I try to park away from the grill to reduce the likelihood that my daughter’s curiosity will prompt her to try an “experiment”. If she carries one of her toys with her, we caution her to steer away from the storm drain since, “if we lose a princess down there, we’ll never get her back!” So far, we’ve not lost any princesses, toy rings, plastic animals, or anything else (that I know of) to the terror of the storm drain. Yet if something does get lost down there, we’ll know where it is, but will be powerless to retrieve it.
Now keep in mind that to a preschool child, beloved dolls and stuffed animals are like friends or even family members. When they lose such a “friend”, it can seem to them as painful as actually losing a real, live person (until maturity and wisdom begin to help them differentiate between “real” and pretend). But all of this brings me to the question, “What do we who are ‘grownup’ do with our loved ones who are lost?” By “lost” we could certainly mean those who are wandering through life without any direction, vulnerable to the hazards that beset them, straying through emotional and spiritual minefields by which they may be wounded if not entirely destroyed. But we also must remember that even if they feel that their lives are all that they could want them to be, if Jesus isn’t truly Lord and Savior, then all the ways that they may feel they’re succeeding are an illusion: they are still “lost”, bound to an endless parting from the One Who loves them best.
My daughter’s Cinderella, in a very literal sense, was lost beyond hope (or at least beyond the hope chest). As far as we knew, she was gone for good: we had looked everywhere we knew to look, even in places that we thought she couldn’t possibly be, but it was all to no avail. And even if my daughter knew where she was, she didn’t have the strength necessary to push aside the obstacle that trapped her and then get her back. But her father did.
Are you aware of any Cinderellas today suffering from some degree of “lostness?” Maybe they seem too far gone and you cannot fathom how you can reach them. You may feel that you can’t relate to where they’re coming from and you just don’t know “where they are”. Or you may feel powerless to intervene and make a difference because you do not have the strength necessary to push aside the obstacles that trap them and get them back. But your heavenly father does.
You yourself may be struggling with direction and purpose, wondering if you are lost beyond hope and too far gone for anyone to come to your rescue. If so, there is One Who knows exactly where you are and also has the strength necessary to push aside such obstacles that might bar your happy reunion with your heavenly Father.
There are things that I know and can share with my children, and there are things that I’m physically empowered to handle for them. But there are limits to my knowledge and strength. I can’t save plastic princesses from storm sewers. There are people that I have in the past been able to help in some small way and there are some, though I may have tried to help them, are beyond my ability to help either because there are limits to my knowledge or because their situation is simply beyond my strength.
But there are no limits with God. There is no place that you can hide from Him that He is not there. Nor is there any shackle or chain that He cannot break. You may feel that your life or the life of someone else is beyond hope, but you can’t move the obstacles that are in the way. Yet God is no more intimidated by all the tragedy and hurt that can hem us in than if we were prisoners in sand castles. He simply moves in and clears the way with a shovel called hope… true hope that can only be found in Jesus Christ. Remember this: Jesus died for you so that you may be forgiven and made new. Because of this, God has an eternal plan for your life that starts now! And He can reach into the lives of your loved ones, too. Trust Him and keep praying.
“For You created my inmost being; You knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise You because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; Your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from You when I was made in the secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, Your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written in Your book before one of them came to be” (Psalm 139:13-16 NIV).
(Thom Mollohan and his family have ministered in southern Ohio the past thirteen years and is the author of The Fairy Tale Parables: Classic Fairy Tales Pointing to God's Love and Truth. He is the pastor of Pathway Community Church and may be reached for comments or questions by email at pastorthom@pathwaygallipolis.com).
