Lost

She was 8 years old, pretty as a picture, the apple of her mum and dad’s eye, and she was lost. Panic had already set in when meal time arrived and she wasn’t in the back garden where they had last seen her, when they told her to play until dinner was ready. It wasn’t a long time, but she was gone and a search party was organised quickly. They lived on an estate which opened out to a large open field and wooded area to the rear of the property. No one wanted to say what they were thinking, or dreading.

After a short time which felt like an eternity, the lost was found, curled up under a small bush fast asleep. Unharmed and unafraid. Before daddy could sweep her up into his safe arms, he noticed that the fingers of one hand were wrapped tightly round the fourth finger of her other hand. In no time, Betsy was home, having dinner, none the worse for her ordeal. In fact she was the only one who wasn’t worried.

When it was time for bed, mum took her little girl upstairs and after reading a story, asked why she had been clutching her finger so tightly. With a big smile, Betsy told how she had listened to her Sunday School teacher the week before who told them how to remember the first part of Psalm 23. Pointing to each finger in turn, she recited, “The-Lord-is-MY-Shepherd” and when she had strayed from home and got worried, she clutched the fourth finger that said ‘MY’ and the fear left. So from a little girl we are reminded of the lesson in Psalm 23:1 we all need to hear. “The Lord is MY shepherd”. Mine. It is personal. Jesus is mine, and let’s never forget it! Amen.