Anyway, there I was, a 3rd grader in 1960,
finding my way to the choir room where I found -- nobody. My children’s choir was not singing in the
service that day.
I didn’t know what to do. We were new members of the church and I knew
only a few of the kids by name. One of
the other parents offered to let me sit with them. But it was going to be communion, and I didn’t
know how to go down front unless I was with my parents. I was getting panicky at the thought of not
being with my mom and dad because they always knew what to do.
I was scared and felt so alone.
I finally decided that I would walk home. Except I didn’t know exactly where home
was. I knew that if I walked down
Airport Road and hung a right onto the Parkway, it was just a little ways down
there somewhere.
So I started out. It
was winter, and the wind was blowing. I
quickly got really cold.
But I was determined to get to where I was going, so I
trudged on. I had a new coat on that
looked (to me, anyway) like Little Joe’s horse on Bonanza. So I talked to that coat (remember, I’m in 3rd
grade) and assured it that we would eventually get home.
I was scared and felt so alone.
I remember that a car stopped. A woman was at the wheel. She opened the passenger side door and I saw
a couple of kids in there. She asked me
if I was all right. I said I was. She asked me where I was going. I told her home. She asked if I was lost. I said no, I knew the way. She invited me into her car, but I couldn’t
get in a stranger’s car. That was wrong,
and I wasn’t going to do it. She finally
and very reluctantly drove away.
I was scared and felt so alone.
Then, after some more trudging and what felt like hours
going by, another car stopped. This one
had a policeman in it. He was very nice,
asked the same questions the woman had. And
when he said to get in his car, I knew it was okay because he was a policeman
and he was there to help me.
He asked my name and address. My name I could handle, but I didn’t know my
address. We had moved recently from one
side of town to the other. I could get
him to the old house but not to the new one.
I think it was then that it hit me. I was truly lost. I didn’t know where my family was and I didn’t
know where my house was. I started to
cry. Not loud and dramatic, just
sniffling a little bit, trying to keep it together and be a big girl.
I had a vague notion of where the house was. I knew it was close to Redstone Arsenal. The cop pulled onto Bob Wallace Avenue and
headed in that direction.
And then I saw my dad, driving toward us. I pointed to our car and yelled, “That’s my
daddy! That’s my daddy!” The cop slammed on the brakes and pulled
over.
Daddy saw me as I pointed to him. He slammed on his brakes and pulled
over.
And I joyfully ran across the road and into the open arms of
my Father.
I was lost but now I’m found.
Sound familiar?
