The Joy of Being Found

A Sofa Arranged Where No One Can Hide Behind It

Luke 15:24 NIV

"For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.' So they began to celebrate."

I never saw anyone hate to bathe as much as my younger brother, Rob, as a child. Nightly adventures began before bathwaters were even turned on as he streaked naked through the house with mom or dad in swift pursuit.

My sister, Teri, and I enjoyed these variety shows. We witnessed live theater in the hallway: Vaudevillian comedy and Shakespearean tragedies performed nightly at nine.

One of Rob’s final acts was an accidental performance of an epic Greek tragedy of mythic proportions.

One June night, my brother didn't return home from playing outside. At first, dad didn't worry.  His booming voice carried over the sounds of bullfrogs and crickets as he bellowed Rob's name.

Nothing.  Worry set in. He called neighbors.

"Joan, it’s Norman. Have you seen Rob? He didn't come home. I'll give him a few more minutes and then call the police. Let me know what you find out. Thanks."

By now the whole street was looking for him.  Soon dad will have to call the police. No one I knew had ever called the police. This was serious, and I am tearful. I’d been yelling for Rob, too. No luck.

Dad went outside one last time before calling the police. As he walked by the couch next to the front door, he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye.

Hidden behind the couch was a tiny boy squirreled away, prepared to stay all night long so he wouldn't have to take his bath.

My dad was known for his fierce temper, so I expected to see Rob get the living tar beaten out of him.  Instead, what I saw made a life-long impression on me.

Dad held Rob and broke into tears, begging him to never frighten him again.  After that tender moment of father-son bonding, my brother was yanked into the tub and sent to bed.

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Dear Lord, thank you for the joy that comes from being found.