Perspiration soaked through my shirt, the sun scorched my skin and tears streamed down my face, as I realized my embarrassing predicament. There I was at the cemetery, planning to visit my husband’s grave — and I was lost.
Really, I berated myself, what fool can’t find her own husband’s grave? What’s wrong with you? You’ve been here before.
I’d started out earlier that morning on a hopeful note, planning to pack my sunhat, take water to wash off the headstone and purchase flowers on the way.
Two miles down the road, I realized the hat was at home, and when I stopped to buy artificial flowers, the store had none, so that was two strikes against me.
Hatless and harried, I retraced my steps, over and over, reading headstones to no avail, while making a feeble effort to defend myself.
“You haven’t been here for two years, and you got lost that time too.”
Somehow that didn’t help, because it just underscored how easily I get lost.
Years ago, I went the wrong way on I-285 and ended up circling the entire city, because I was so discombobulated that the notion of exiting and turning around seemed unthinkable.
Getting lost in life happens almost without our noticing. Maybe we lose ourselves in booze, pain killers, violent video games, sexual escapdes or pornography. Maybe we can’t find our way back to sanity, even though there are road signs pointing us home.
In my 20s I was the quintessential lost sheep from the Bible story, who strayed far from the safety of my childhood fold, as I immersed myself in a world of drinking, dating, drugs and despair.
God is a loving shepherd who searches to find the stray, even though it’s just one animal among so many others. It would be easy to hide behind the law of averages, which says, “You can’t win them all,” but in his eyes, every single person is precious.
According to tradition, Mary Magdalene was one of the lost sheep Jesus rescued when he set her free from seven demons.
When she went to Jesus’ tomb and discovered it was empty, she suffered a terrible shock, which came home to me when I was lost in the cemetery.
Please don’t misunderstand me — I didn’t think Jef had been miraculously resurrected from the dead and then removed all traces of his tomb.
Instead, I felt an intense longing, concern and grief, which she must have experienced too, when she lamented, “They have taken my Lord away, and I don’t know where they have put him.”
This is how I would feel if I were to lose my faith now, or take a drastically wrong turn on life’s road.
“They have taken my Lord away” can apply to people who turn their backs on God and get lost in meaningless pleasures.
Still, Christ was right beside Mary in the garden, hidden under the disguise of a gardener, and he is still there for us, no matter how far we’ve strayed — although he may be wearing a different disguise.
In many ways, God came into my life through my late husband, whose immense love for me mirrored the divine love.
Now that he’s gone, I cling ever more tightly to the Good Shepherd, who said, “My sheep hear my voice and I know them and they follow me.”
I found the grave and tidied it up a bit, said a few prayers and promised to return with a new cluster of flowers. Then I climbed into the car and managed to arrive home without getting lost.
I pray someday we’ll meet again in heaven, where no one will be hungry, thirsty or sunburned, and every tear will be wiped away. We will bask in the presence of the Good Shepherd, who lays down his life for his sheep — and we’ll hear his voice and rejoice.
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