Lost and Found
You have to lose something precious before you can experience the joy of finding it. In fact loss is an essential part of the experience of finding, they are two sides of the same coin. I would go further to say that the joy of finding, or the excitement and anticipation of being found can only spring from the experience of losing, or being lost. Who can’t remember the anticipation of being found in every child’s game of ‘Hide n’ Seek’, when you hear the words ‘coming ready or not’ and the footsteps get closer to the other side of the carefully shut wardrobe door as you hide, still and almost breathless amongst the coats. I’m not sure who gets the biggest fright, or the greatest joy, at being discovered. And what about the time that you hid in a place that was impossible to be found, you know that time you played the game with a 3 year old and made the find almost impossible? In the end you had to jump out and make yourself known but that only spoiled the excitement the child was yearning to experience. (A reminder, this is really a kids game and adults need to lower the competition for it to work:)
Recently a parcel that I sent to New York for the family got lost in the mail. I’d like to think it was the fault of NZ Post or a failed courier system but it was actually mine, as I addressed the package incorrectly. This particular collection of goods included beautiful treats; hand made winter cardigans and hats for our new mokopuna, lovingly created just with him in mind, as well as clothes, toys, chocolate and marmite, the usual stuff. When it failed to arrive after quite a few weeks I had a sinking feeling that it wasn't going to, rather it was out there somewhere, a lone package forever lost in the system. It even took on a personality of its own in my imagination, and I hoped that it had the resilience and fortitude to make its way back to NZ. ‘Come home little kiwi’. The only consolation was that the return address was clear, as the instructions on the customs form were to return to the sender. So I held onto hope.
This parcel, lost and alone, never quite left my mind. I would lay awake at night wondering where it was, perhaps in the back of some dark warehouse with other sad lost parcels, or maybe flying solo around the world on international flights winging its way home. Perhaps it was in the hands of a stranger who was enjoying its goodness, (which I could live with), or the worst case scenario was that it had been destroyed. I would imagine coming into the driveway and seeing it sitting there at the front door. I was like the Prodigal Mother who, with the Father, was leaning on the fence waiting for the postie to bring their lost treasured boy home. The sense of loss over this one parcel never left me.
And then one day, a few months later when I pulled into my driveway, there, just like the reunion experience I had dreamed of was the lost box, sitting at home on the front porch, waiting to be found. It’s hard to explain the joy I felt. I smiled and felt the Universe smiling with me. I took photos of the box, sent them to my daughter overseas, hugged it, kissed it, opened it, took more photos, smiled some more, probably cried and for the next few hours just gazed with a sense of joy and wonder at this now opened box of goodies that was lost, but now found. I put the marmite back in the cupboard (I was running out), and searched for the Chocolate. It was the week before Lent, and my usual ‘sugar free’ 40 day season was getting closer, so I ate the chocolate, piece by beautiful piece over the next week. It was like killing the fattened calf and I had a feast to celebrate the wonderful return.
Now, as I write this little story it’s Easter Sunday, and I’ve just had my first chocolate egg. Kids are running around the camping ground where I’m staying searching for the treasure that their parents have painstakingly hidden in obscure places. The neighbouring kid was given a huge haul and my suggestion that he might share was received with a look of horror at the idea that he would have to part with his loot. These eggs that he found have been stored up in his imagination since last year, something he has been anticipating I guess.
A few weeks after its homecoming I re-packaged the parcel and sent it back to New York, less the marmite and the chocolate, and one of the cardigans and hats that was by now too small for a newborn. I blessed it on its way as I handed it over to the Post Shop teller and bid it farewell, whispering (quietly under my breath) ‘fly safe (again) little kiwi’. My family anticipated its arrival and when that postie knocked on their door and handed it over there was joy experienced on the other side of the world as the treasures were unpacked. My daughter sent me photos, and all was well.
Now clearly there are a lot of other things going on in the world currently that hold a great more weight and importance than a box of goodies from home, but the disappointment of losing and being lost and the experience of the joy of finding or being found are both common to our shared humanity.
When all seems lost, it’s not. It may be found in its original form, or it might take on another shape. In the story of Easter that is celebrated in the Christian tradition the disciples' grief over the loss of their Christ executed, to the joy of meeting him again in such a way that their lives were permanently changed, is proof of that. So don’t give up. Just when all seems lost, there’s an invitation to anticipate a return, a homecoming of the same, or a discovery of a new iteration of what it is you may have given up on.