Sometimes I get lost.  I get lost while driving to yet another random event.  I get lost in my head, thinking of all the things that I have to do that day.  I get lost in the mounds of school books, the mounds of dishes, the mounds (and mounds) of dirty laundry.  Sometimes I get lost in the feelings that wash over me like a crashing wave.  I get lost in the world where that little voice whispers, “you will never be good enough“.

I guess I spend a good portion of my time lost.  Lost in the busyness and clutter of it all.  Lost in the “my-kids-must-be in-every-single-activity” culture.  Lost in the fallacy of perfection.  Lost in the shadow of some super-mom somewhere who is clearly better at this than I can or will ever be.  Lost in the desires of my flesh.  Lost. Lost. Lost.

And then there are moments, where I can hear my Shepherd, calling high above the hills, high above the clutter of my mind.  He whispers my name.  His whisper echoes into the very depths of my soul.  He waits for me.  He waits for me to want to be found.

And when wandering is no longer appealing, when I have wandered through the valley of “I can do this on my own” long enough, my Shepherd waits, with open arms, and leads me back to the quiet place.

It is in those moments, where I am on my knees, answering the call of my Shepherd, that I am truly found.  I am free from the need for “perfection”, I am free from the chains of “one more thing”, I am free from the checklist, the to-do list, the laundry, the busy world that screams at me constantly.

In those moments I am free.  I am free to slide away the mound of well-intentioned books.  I am free to say no to “one more thing”.  I am free to gaze at my children and recognize just how little they really are.  I am free to watch them laugh, to watch them read, to watch them dance and love, and to see them as they really are, beautiful creations, made by a loving Shepherd.  I am free to see my imperfections as simple reminders of why this world is not my home.  I am free to love and live in ways that are not possible when I am lost.

I recall a moment when I was so lost that I wasn’t even capable of recognizing the gentle call of the Shepherd.  I was so lost that the thought of being found was not only inconceivable, it was actually frightening.  It was that moment that a 17 year old girl, who had been lost for so long, desiring to fill the pain of this world with anything she could lay her hands on, was finally broken enough to listen, broken enough to hear to the soft calls of the Shepherd who felt the pain of the lost girl, and who had never given up His search.

In that moment, I was finally found.  I fell to my knees and I gave up my rights to be lost.  I gave up the pain of the search for someone, something, anything to fill the deep chasm that lived inside of me.  I fell to my knees and I called to my Shepherd.  I called to the one, who had whispered my name from the moment I was created.  Who knew the filth of my sin, every evil thought, every terrible act, all of it, and He loved me anyway.  I only needed to be broken enough to listen.  I needed to be broken enough to give up being lost, to surrender to being found.

I wish I could say from that moment, I have never wandered.  But sadly, that isn’t true.  Daily, hourly I wander.  I forget to be still and listen.  I let the busyness of this world, the to-do list, the well-intentioned books,  the guilt of saying “no”, all of it, rob me of the joy of the living in the moment, of simply being still.  I let it rob me of looking at this life, my children, my husband, the beauty of this creation, and really looking.

When I am tempted to be consumed by all the challenges found here on this earth.  When I am tempted to embrace the culture of “just one more…”, to be overwhelmed by all the activities, all the noise, all the clutter of it all, I remember that I have a Shepherd who calls me by name, who reminds me that this world is temporary, this stuff, even the well-intentioned books, it is just stuff.  The laundry, the dishes, the stress.  I so easily forget that this life is nothing but a grain of sand in light of the desert of eternity.

I surrender.  I surrender to being found.  Not just once 13 years ago.  But I surrender to being found daily, hourly, and some days, moment by moment. I surrender to the call of my Shepherd.

I surrender my right to wander. I surrender.