Imagine waking up one morning and discovering your child is missing.

He is not in the backyard. He is not in the side yard. He is not in the neighbor's yard.

He is nowhere.

Imagine trying to push back the panic and remain calm as your husband says, "I am going to get in the car and drive around the block."

Imagine losing the battle to push back the panic when your husband returns ten minutes later with a look on his face that tells you your child is no where to be found.

Imagine turning to walk into the house, stumbling on the concrete steps as realize your child is really gone. Your body breaks into heaving sobs, your vision blurred from a torrent of fearful tears.

Imagine how your body turns numb when your husband tells you, "Honey, call 911."

The flood of tears unleashes and you scream into the phone that your child is missing, and you have no answers to give them when they ask you how long. You do not even know what he was wearing the night before, for you were at a cross stitching Get Together and he was in bed long before you returned home. Fortunately, your husband, who had tucked your child in at his bedtime, does remember and can give them some more information.

A bright blue Nemo shirt. He was wearing a bright blue Nemo shirt and dark underwear...

Imagine your husband taking you by the shoulders, looking into your eyes, and saying in a voice far less steady than his demeanor, "Honey, please, stay with me. I need you with me, and I need you strong. For David. For me."

Imagine nodding in agreement, and doing your best even though a million voices are screaming within you, "David!! Where are you???"

Imagine the police flooding your home. Imagine family, friends, beloved church members, cross stitchers, and total strangers rallying together to pray and search for your beloved, lost child.

Imagine, after the whirlwind of search parties by hundreds of volunteers, the shock when the police inform you that you and your husband have be taken the next day to complete polygraph tests, the shadow that ever hangs over you, never stated and yet always implied, that your are suddenly a suspect in your child's disappearance.

Imagine your world as it begins to cave.

Imagine night falling. You are alone in your bed while your husband waits for his mother to arrive from out of town. All you can do is lie there, torturing yourself with images of your child lost in the woods, possibly being beaten, molested, or worse.

Imagine the supernatural peace of God that floods you, for a precious moment, reminding you to trust Him. And you do. Implicitly. For that shining moment, you do trust Him.

For God is the only thing that will get you through this.

Imagine becoming a national news story is the space of under twelve hours. Imagine four major networks camping outside your home all day long, hoping to get a glimpse of the suffering family.

Imagine surviving the next day, numbly going through the motions of combing your hair and brushing your teeth, not caring how you look. Imagine facing five grueling hours of travel and questioning, facing questions such as:

"Did you in any way harm your son?"
"Did you have anything to do with your son's disappearance?"
"Did you kill your son?"

Imagine. Imagine the horror of losing your child and being blamed for it.

Imagine the frustration at learning both your and your husband's polygraph came out "inconclusive" because you were under too much emotional duress for your answers to be "consistent". Imagine your relief, albeit brief, when you learn that is common in such cases. Imagine your hopelessness when it's suggested you might have to submit to another polygraph in a few days.

Imagine the weariness as you are taken to the police station for yet more questioning. Imagine the screams within you that want to fly from your throat, "Why are you people doing this?? Why won't anyone listen?? He got out on his own and wandered too far from home, and now he's lost!! Why won't anyone believe us??!?"

Imagine being asked questions regarding every minute detail of your marriage, from finances to your sex life and you, wanting to be as co-operative as possible, answer them.

Imagine the blessing you feel to discover that you and your husband answered in near identical ways, proving to them that you really are a couple who is honest and who loves each other and your children.

Imagine returning home, exhaustion filling your entire body. You finally collapse on your child's bed, devoid of sheets that were taken by the police as possible evidence, and you cry. You sob. You scream. Your body shudders and buckles beneath the strain of the day and you sense nothing other than your husband weeping beside you and the arms of God around you.

Trust me, He whispers. And once again you are filled with that strange peace that everything will be fine.

Imagine feeling the first pricks of encouragement when the private scent dog team picks up your child's scent. Imagine wanting to stay up all night and go with them, but understanding the need to stay at home.

Once again, night assaults your senses. Once again, your child is still somewhere out there, and he is alone.

Or so you think. And part of you hopes.

Imagine the surreal quality of entering day three without your firstborn child. Imagine trying to care for your youngest child, but thankful for the family that surrounds you that can take on that task. Imagine hating the fact that you have to eat, but understanding you have to keep up your energy.

Imagine having no energy, but having to fake it.

Imagine your world changing in a blink of an eye.

Imagine how your world turns from pure hell to pure joy when it's reported to you that your child is found alive and unharmed.

Imagine how your heart burst with joy and pride, tears flowing freely, as the back of the ambulance doors open and you get a peek of one skinny pink leg. You don't feel anything other than pure elation as the three of you cling to each other, and you don't even bother with the pain that shoots up your knees as you sink to the ground in one grateful, tearful lump. All you can do is thank God for His mercy, and praise Him for His miracle.

David survived 55 hours on his own. The most he had to show for it was a couple of scratches and some very mild dehydration. Volunteers who combed the woods surrounding us found ravines, poisonous snakes, poison ivy, and other such undesirables that could take the life of a little boy, or at the very least hurt him severely. For His own reason and purpose, God saw fit to spare our little boy and bring him back safely into the arms of the mother and father who love him.

I have birthed an extraordinary child and I serve an extraordinary God. May I be shamed if I take either for granted.

Sadly, sometimes I do take them both for granted. Just this morning I'm fussing because things are not going "right" and I'm tired. We've all been sick lately, and the kids still have a touch of the stomach flu, which equals weak tummies and it is not pleasant. When we are tired, frustrated, or worn out, it's so easy to forget the blessings and miracles that bestow themselves on us everyday. We allow anger and hurt to flood our communities, private and on line, because we lose focus on what is truly meaningful. We need to guard against this, because we never know what the future brings. And, as I found out that early August morning, the future is not some far off somewhere-out-there; is the very next minute of our lives. To allow petty things jar our perspectives and get in the way of loving each other is a dangerous and shameful thing, because we never know when we will wake up one morning and find the other gone, without a warning, without a word, without a trace.

Love each other. Get perspective. Life is too short and too unpredictable to do anything else.

Meet my miracle child:

Now go hug and kiss your own.



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