I had never been away from family before.
Normally if I went somewhere, it would be with my Mother and Father. Occasionally, I
might go a short distance with another family member. But never before had I gone anywhere
that did not involve a blood relative...until now.
I was all of eight years old. I had just joined the Cub Scouts. The Scouts
were going to an outing. They had booked a trip to old Connie Mack Stadium in
Philadelphia to see what else, The Phillies play.
Several parents were to serve as the drivers and chaperones for this event. Many of
my neighborhood friends also would be going. I was eager to go too. I never
thought about the fact neither my Mother or Father were scheduled to be there. I
might have had second thoughts about this one.
At that time I was not a big Phillies fan. Although my father always watched them,
or listened to them on his new fangled transistor radio, I was more a bystander than an
active participant. I loved baseball but only when I could experience the dust
myself of sliding into home.
Connie Mack was one of those old-styled stadiums. The type that are coming back into
popularity now in such cities as Baltimore. High brick walls, bleacher seats in its
most upper reaches, near perfect views of the field no matter where you were seated.
No wonder that old-style of stadium has become popular again.
For this battalion of Cub Scouts, the game was only part of the attraction. There
also were such diversions as popcorn, hot dogs, sodas and candy. And to get these
treats, you either waited for the right vender to come up and down the aisle, or, you went
to the concourse to get your supplies.
>From where we were seated, and seated for an eight-year-old is a relative term, we had
to go down the sloped concrete steps to the opening to the concourse. Then you had
the whole series of food stands around you.
Some where in the journey, I found myself separated from my older more wizened fellow
scouts. They probably had blazed a trail back to our seats. Little knicks in
the wood of the stadium's infrastructure to get them back to their nose bleed level
bleachers.
Me, I was not even smart enough to lay a trail of popcorn droppings. I
suddenly found myself very alone and very lost in the bowels of Connie Mack Stadium.
When I went back to the opening in the stadium that I thought would lead back to my seat,
I did not see anything familiar. I mean nothing at all familiar. I had only met some
of these Scouts a week ago so even if they were there with banners I might not have
recognized them.
Then a more major problem arose. I discovered every level of the stadium was laid
out exactly the same way. You could be at the top or near the bottom and they had
the same food stands in the concourse and the same sloping steps when you hit the stadium.
A compass and a guide dog could not have gotten me back to my seat by now. I had
wandered beyond the point of return. It was time to face facts, I was lost. Now that
was a scary reality. I did not know where I was, in a city I did not know, with a
group of people I barely knew and my parents so far away they could not help.
I flagged down the next person in a uniform I could find. Told them my predicament.
By now there was a trickle of tears cascading to punctuate the story.
So the kind usher, escorted me even deeper into the depths of Connie Mack stadium
and deposited me in a room marked lost and found. Obviously, I was not the first nor
the last little boy to have found themselves in this situation. It was a comfortable
little room, with chairs and a smiling attendant who tried to keep you from dehydrating
from crying too much.
I was not the only little boy there. There were three of us seated in varying
degrees of distress. The other two I thought were lucky. They had lost their
parents, who I was sure would be looking for them, all I lost was my chaperone and I was
not even sure if they knew my name yet. Whoops, another reality check and another
flood of tears.
Things were looking a little bleak. One by one, the parents of the other two, came
and claimed their lost children. I was feeling both a little abandoned, and still
very lost, despite the fact I knew where I was, in lost and found.
Then there was a big flurry of activity. The game had ended. People were
exiting the stadium. The ball players were heading for the lockerroom. Several
of the players came into the lost and found room, saw poor pitiful looking me
sitting there in a moat of my own tears, and left signed baseballs and autographed
programs in hopes of either cheering me up, or shutting my bawling up so they could have
some peace and quiet.
By now, I thought everyone was gone. I even called my parents collect, to see
if they could come to Philadelphia to retrieve me. My desperation mounted and just
as I was on the verge of an eight-year-old nervous break down, in walked my
chaperone with the rest of his charges, who unlike me, did not decide to get lost.
I was a little sheepish as I exited the stadium with them. But as soon as the final
evidence of tears had dried, when the quaver had left my voice, I realized I had a great
story I could tell for years. How on a warm day when I was eight, I had gotten so
lost, they had to put me in lost and found. And while there I had a chance to get
the autographs of Robin Roberts and Willie Mays. Willie even patted me on the head
and said "It will be all right little fellow" before he ascribed his name,
autographing my program.
For many years, it was a great story to tell of how once I was lost but after a long time,
I was found.
I still love to tell the story.
For at some time in our life we all are lost. We are around people and we know right
where we are at but are lost none the less.
We have yet to come to know the Lord and until we know Jesus Christ as our Lord and Savior
we are lost, desperately lost.
When I came to Jesus and was found, I shed tears like I did as the lost eight year
old but this time it was tears of joy at having been found.
There are times when you are lost that people can come and find you. But when you
are lost to the Lord you have to find yourself. You first have to take stock of your
situation and then admit you really are lost and once you do that you are on the path of
being found.
How can you find your way in the Lord you ask? Repent in your heart. Shed the
burden of the sins you have been carrying around. And then confess with your lips
that Jesus Christ is Lord.
All of a sudden you will realize, that the darkness that surrounded you before now
has become light and the way has become clear. You once were lost but now you too have
been found.
As a postscript. My parents were over joyed when I finally arrived home. They
had no idea as to what was happening at Connie Mack Stadium but they were concerned
because they were too far away to help. I think they were about as happy as I was
that I had been found. They did not even fuss with me about the reverse charge phone
call.
I went to that old stadium a few more times before it was torn down. I learned to
carefully note my seating section and never again was I lost. Also never again did I
have such a big adventure but all things considered, I much prefer being found.
Are you found today or are you, like I was at eight, still wandering around lost?
