hide-and-seek.

I used to love hiding. I don't know if was the thrill of accidentally being found by an unsuspecting "seeker", or the comfort of knowing that if I tried hard enough....I could tuck myself away from the rest of the world for as long as I liked and then BAM! I'd make my grand re-appearance upon my leisure.

One summer evening, when I was about five or six, I went came inside from my backyard and discovered that my dad wasn't at home and my mom was in the shower. I patted myself on the back for being responsible and returning home at dusk without any verbal prompts from my parents.....and then came up with a brilliant plan.

I went to my parents' bedroom, flattened myself out on the floor as best as I could and quickly rolled myself under their queen size bed. My plan of action: wait in the secret shadows of the bed's underbelly until my mom returned to her room to get dressed. The second she walked anywhere near the edge of the bed, I would grab her ankles as a "surprise", which would make her scream and squeal and probably pee all over herself. Upon her recovery of total shock and terror, she would laugh, compliment me for being sneaky and clever and then give me some sort of treat.

The best laid plans, right?

I ended up falling asleep before my mom even got out of the shower.

She got dressed and went outside to call me in. After searching around the house....block....neighborhood...and talking with neighbors who said that I had gone home "hours ago", she alerted the police and relatives who lived in towns nearby. A search-party was quickly formed and the town was blanketed with people who wanted to find me.

My small hometown turned itself upside down looking for their most prized citizen. The city police blamed themselves for not protecting its townspeople better. Women, children and babies were crying at the thought of such a great loss. Grown men were sobbing too. My older sister, who never had any interest in me until I suddenly disappear, grieved the loss of her only sibling by throwing a fit and asking to sleep in my parents' bedroom that night while the manhunt outside continued.

As my grandma put my sister into the bed she noticed a shoelace trailing out from under the mattress. She reached her hand under the bed, wrapped her old wrinkled fingers around something warm and fleshy and pulled out her favorite grandchild, who up until that point had been peacefully sleeping. My grandma picked me up, wrapped me in her arms and tearfully told me "I love you."

The funny thing is, no one was mad. They had every reason to be. But everyone was just happy that I had returned. Safe. Sound. All parts of me still stuck together.

In Matthew 18:12-13 it says "If a man has a hundred sheep, and one of them has gone astray, does he not leave the ninety-nine on the mountains and go in search of the one that went astray? And if he finds it, truly, I say to you, he rejoices over it more than over the ninety-nine that never went astray." God loves us and rejoices over us when we return to him too. He isn't mad that we wasted his time. He isn't mad that we wandered away or intentionally left him. He has every reason to be.

We can't really hide from God. Sometimes I try, but he is always there to pull me out from under the bed, tell me he loves me and welcome me home.