By Leslie M. Bosserman 
It was a spring of superbloom across California. After years of drought, wildflower seeds that lay dormant finally covered the state in an array of fantastic color. But in our house, we silently suffered indoors with the worst allergic reactions of epic proportions. We could barely walk from the house to the car without watery eyes, hacking coughs, and dripping noses.
One evening as we were going through the normal routine, my allergies were particularly terrible. While all I wanted to do was enjoy the beautiful weather in our backyard, I ushered our young children inside quickly as I juggled school backpacks and grocery bags like a trained ninja. My husband had to stay late at work, so I was solo parenting our trio.
Bringing in the last load of groceries, our oldest Caleb stood in the kitchen with worried eyes and asked, “Mom, where’s Luke?”
Quickly scanning the first floor of our home, I told Caleb to run and check upstairs where Luke often played as I dashed back outside to the front yard to scan the street. No sign of Luke. I ran back to the house where Caleb now was sobbing alongside his toddler sister Eden who didn’t know what was happening but joined in the tears for solidarity.
Taking their tiny hands in mine, I said a quick prayer and then promised “I’m going to find him. Please stay inside and keep the door locked. I’ll be right back.” And then I ran.
It had only been a few minutes so he couldn’t have gone very far. Just one week before, Luke had learned how to unlock the front door and decided to walk the half mile to the local library. Our neighbor two doors down called us to check in when she spotted him jumping happily off the short brick wall like he’d done so many times before. That’s when we installed better locks.
This time was different. This time, Luke hadn’t even made it inside the house before he left. He had been right there, with me. I was supposed to keep him safe and protect him. Feelings of guilt and failure started washing over me as I struggled to keep my confidence up on my search.
After running the immediate block around our house without spotting Luke, I grabbed my minivan keys and drove in a hurry around our neighborhood. Almost 10 minutes had passed since I last saw Luke, and my mom guilt and shame were now on overdrive. “I should have been more careful. I should know where to find him . . .” the judgments echoed on repeat in my head.
Knowing I needed more help than I wanted to admit, I dialed 911. The dispatcher transferred me to the Sacramento Emergency Police Team, “I hear that you are reporting a missing child?”
Fighting through hot tears I replied, “Yes officer, his name is Luke. He is five years old with light brown hair and blue eyes. He is wearing matching dinosaur pajamas and green shoes. And he has Autism. So he likely won’t respond to you or tell you his name.”
The officer shared that they had just received a call two minutes before about a young boy matching Luke’s description who had been located less than three blocks away. Driving as carefully and quickly as I could, I pulled into the alley just a block from our house, where Luke stood calmly next to an older woman with kind eyes.
“Luke!” I called as he looked up at me, backlit with late afternoon sunlight like a tiny angel. He was so calm and peaceful, not even realizing that what he had done was dangerous or wrong. Folding him into my arms, I finally exhaled and said a silent prayer of gratitude that he was safe and found. While it had been less than five minutes until I had arrived, those five minutes—to me—felt like the entire five years of Luke’s whole life.
“I’m so glad you’re safe, Luke,” I said, hugging him tighter. “We never leave home without Mom or Dad. Got it?” I said sternly.
“Got it,” Luke replied rotely, repeating my words, likely still not aware of the situation given his special needs.
Thanking our neighborhood guardian angel, I drove the short blocks home, so grateful for answered prayers and tiny miracles. That night, we stayed close together, sharing a bowl of popcorn and watching a Disney movie. I didn’t take any of it for granted. When my husband came home, I recounted the evening’s events, saying prayers of gratitude for God’s protection over our family.
How often are we like Luke, not even aware that what we have done is potentially dangerous? We may be lost and not even realize it. Still, our Heavenly Father searches for us as a loving and concerned parent until we are safely home (Luke 15:4–7). Sometimes we don’t know how truly lost we are until we are found and redeemed.
Where are you feeling lost now? There is a way back, a safe haven, a resting place (Matthew 11:28). We’re told to give all our worries to the Lord for He cares for us (1 Peter 5:7). He will seek us diligently until we are safely home (Luke 19:10).
by Jess Ronne 
by Christina Abernethy 
by Lindsey Carson 
