‘For this my son was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found’. And they began to be merry.’ ~Luke 15:24
A child of the 60s, teen in the 70s, not a boomer or a gen-Xer, I am of the Lost Generation. The Lost Generation watched, as children, seeing daily death from Vietnam on the 6 o’clock news. The Lost Generation watched as the economy took mothers out of their homes, out of their children’s lives, to be employees. The Lost Generation turned to ‘sex, drugs and rock n roll’ to abate the depression that was their lives.
For me: I married at 18, was a divorced mother by 19. Finding the way, for my son and myself was difficult. Without guidance, I went to the school of hard knocks, which gained me the gift "discernment" by experience. At 21, just becoming an adult, I recognized the benefits of walking the Road of Happy Destiny and set about making amends for past mistakes and truly living as Jesus instructed and God intended.
The story of the prodigal son has always brought tears to my eyes. Partially, because I am found, out of a generation lost, and in spite of my best effort, my first son is lost to me, not unlike the Biblical prodigal to his father.
In the Garden of Gethsemane and while He hung on the cross, we are told that Jesus felt sorrow. Even as he hung on the cross dying, he cried, “Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?” feeling the darkness of being Lost.
During Lent and Easter, I am reminded of His Sacrifice for the Lost and of the Joy of Being Found.
May the tears of today,
Water the flowers of tomorrow,
And bring Light to the eyes that behold them.
Submitted, this day, for print publication.