As a child, summer games seemed to play out into the last whimper of daylight. We biked, and ran, and threw sticks and chased girls. When we tired of baseball, dirt smudged on our face, we would all gather at Joe’s house for the next phase of our outdoor adventure.Hide and seek.

Living in a neighborhood next to the open fields gave us opportunity to hide in the willows, under the broken tree limbs and in the makeshift fort next to Lanny’s house. We could play for hours.

Quickly, one-by-one, we would quickly shout. “Not it.”“Not it.”” Not it.” 

At first, it was a great thrill to be “it.”  I would find the hiding place, like the one behind the couch, slither down into the slot, and then pull a blanket over the top. My friends would clomp clomp clomp by me, my hand jammed in my mouth so they wouldn’t hear my giggles,

Hah! Undetected!

What if I was never found?

And then there was long silence. That was a good sign that I wouldn’t be found. Nervously, I peeked out, secretly hoping for discovery. But in the recesses of my mind came questions, the doubt. Did I do such a good job of getting lost, that I would never be found? Would I ever be discovered? Would they go home and forget the hunt? Would anybody really care?

“David? I don’t know where he is. Last I saw him, he was hiding somewhere.”

As a child it’s a game. As an adult, it’s a professional quest. Some spend a whole lifetime getting lost. And they do everything they can to keep from getting found.

I have a brother who has been on the run his whole life. I’ve reached out in love, friendship and grace, only to have him pull his hand away in anger and hurt. For a long time, I didn’t understand why he wouldn’t want  to come home, following the bread crumbs of kindness.Then I realized. He wanted to wrap himself in his own blanket of familiarity. “Leave me alone.” So I did. And so has every one else.

Still, I still feel the guilt. Christ left the 99 to come chase me down, and yet I give up so easily.

I’ve walked away

I’ve been lost myself. My path was well-worn, trod by the generations before me and followed by my own sandals. Somewhere I walked away. It was one fork. And then another. And then another. And I just couldn’t find my way back before the Enemy had stolen away my treasure.

The truth is, I was ashamed to be found because I didn’t want the reminder of what I had lost along the way. “Better to be lost and alone, than found and vulnerable.” At least, that was the reasoning.

In retrospect, finding the best hiding spot isn’t really the best way to win.

Have you ever been a runaway?