I was Lost

When I was about five years old, I got lost. 

Well, there’s more to the story than just that. We were living near Seattle, Washington on a military base. I remember little about that time at Ft. Lewis, but a few things lodged themselves in my memory.

The most prominent one is a little friend I had made. I think her name was Kathy. It’s funny. I can’t recall playing with her at all. What I know is she would show up at our window at dinner time. Often. We’d be sitting at the table having a family meal, and suddenly there was a little face pressed against the window peering in on our family.

I don’t have the slightest idea why she did this. Why wasn’t her family having dinner, too? My best guess is she wanted to play and had no qualms about making sure we all knew it. Being social, I wanted to ask her in, but my mom told her to go home, and she did. Until next time. 

I remember less than I know. There have been a few stories recounted over the years and pictures to attest to the accuracy.

In the year we lived there, I celebrated my birthday. The picture shows a little blonde, freckle-faced girl holding a birthday cake with candles aflame. She looks happy and satisfied with the way the day is unfolding.

We also had Christmas while we lived so far away from our family. My granny visited us, which was a treat because she was my heart. She had inquired about what my brother and I wanted for Christmas, and I requested a specific doll. This doll could walk! How impressive is that? Granny thoroughly enjoyed giving us gifts and was excited about watching us open them. 

Unfortunately, it didn’t go as planned. As the story goes, I opened my gift and exclaimed, “This is not what I wanted. It’s the wrong doll!” Well, keep in mind that was not yet five — that’s my only defense. It devastated my granny. I’d hurt her feelings, and I never lived it down. That’s not to say she held it over my head. But they repeatedly told the story, bringing shame for such selfish behavior. It was unintentional, but it’s the way I processed it.

The most significant tale from our short stint in Seattle is about the day I got lost. 

My brother and I had been out riding our tricycles when my mom called us in for lunch. He went in without me. My mom asked, “Where is your sister?” He told her he didn’t know. They both went out searching for me, and my mom started to worry. There was a cliff nearby that my brother and I had been to occasionally. (I doubt my parents allowed this, but I followed my brother any time I could. We will blame this activity on him.) The search included this cliff and the area surrounding it (it had a beautiful view if I remember correctly). Then, my mom went door to door asking each person if they had seen me. Nothing. As they were coming up with no answers, they tracked back and knocked on some doors a second time — still no sign of me. 

I was lost . . . 

. . . Until I walked right through the front door of our house! I sashayed in without a problem in the world but soon realized I was in trouble. The questions began. Where were you? Who was with you? Are you okay?

I couldn’t understand what the fuss was about. I had only been a few doors down, playing with my new friend. (I can still do this to this day — engage with someone I don’t know. I’m not shy.) Since we didn’t know this family, it was surprising to my mother I would end up there. She knocked on this neighbor’s door twice. Both times they said I wasn’t there. It wasn’t an intentional lie — these new neighbors didn’t speak English. They did not understand I was missing and never understood the question.

I was missing.
I was not lost.
I knew where I was, how I got there and how to get home. 
I was safe.

Was I punished for my wandering ways? Absolutely! Mine was a military family. One didn’t head off on an adventure without receiving permission first. 

Lesson learned.

I was lost, but now I’m found. It’s the actual story of my life. 

Cue amazing grace.

*To tell this accurately, I asked my mom to retell the story. She told me the friend was a little boy who “took me home with him!” We both busted out laughing. It’s like I was a pet! 

And my little friend, Kathy — she chopped off a chunk of my hair. Great friend!