A funny thing happened at church
while we were on vacation. They lost one
of our kids. Yup, you read that
right. We dropped him off at the
children’s area and when the service was over, he wasn’t where we had left him,
nor did anyone seem to have a clue where he was.
So, let me start from the beginning. For pastors, it’s not often that they get a
chance to visit other churches. It’s
actually something that I want to incorporate into my schedule on a more
consistent basis, but overall, it just doesn’t happen that often. It especially doesn’t happen with new and
different places that we have not experienced before. Usually, we attend the churches our families or
friends go to while we are visiting them, we don’t often go to places where we’ve
never been.
With that in mind, as we drove to
the place where we were staying that Saturday afternoon a few weeks ago, we
were on the lookout for places where we might consider going to worship the
following morning. As we drew closer to
our destination, we spotted a larger church that seemed like it might be a good
fit. Once we got to the house where we
were staying, I went to the church website and got some pertinent information and we agreed that we would check it out the next day.
We arrived a little bit early and
came to the children’s area where there was a check-in desk. It seemed to be fairly secure as the children
were all registered and given name tags.
We also, as the parents, were given name tags so that they would be sure
to allow us back into this area later when it was time to pick up our
children. My daughter, who is the
youngest, has been experiencing some separation anxiety whenever my wife
leaves, so we thought it best to just keep her with us. My oldest son would come into the service
with us and leave midway to go to a special program.
So, I tried to drop off my younger son,
the middle child. I walked into the
classroom with him but he couldn’t be convinced that it was a good idea for him
to stay. This wasn’t going exactly as I
had hoped and planned. We rushed into
the auditorium and found a set of chairs in the back so that we could make a
quick escape should we have any issues with the kids. A little way into the service, my daughter
started fussing and I took her out into the foyer where there were audio and
video feeds.
Not too long after that, the
doors of the auditorium opened and a steady stream of children and parents came
rushing out. I watched my wife take my
boys. A few minutes later, she returned
and let me know that the boys were together and would stay together until we
picked them up. We settled in and did
our best to pay attention to the rest of the service, but my daughter was not
so content to simply be held or stay in a stroller.
As time rolled on, it seemed that
we were fighting a losing battle and the service was drawing to a close. We decided to get a jump on things and pick
up our boys early. So, we got through
all security measures to get back into the children’s area and I followed my
wife to the room where she dropped our boys off. As we walked into the room, we saw our
oldest, but our youngest was nowhere to be found. We asked our older son where his brother was
to which he replied, “I dunno.” Well,
did he know where he was? No. Did you see where he went? No.
Uhhhhhh. We went to the teacher who did not know where
our son was either. At this point, my
wife exits the room with my oldest son and scans the crowds for a familiar
face, particularly the person who had been responsible for our boys when she
dropped them off. The maternal instinct
of some of the other children’s workers kicked in and they could sense that
there was a mother who was concerned. As
they saw the concerned look on the face of my wife, they asked if they could
help. As the story was unfolded to them,
they began heading off in every direction, seeking someone who could locate our
son.
By now it’s been about 10 or 15
minutes which, when you are full of anxiety bordering on panic, seems like an
eternity. I was experiencing a whole
onslaught of emotions, not the least of which was anger. Divinely, my salivary glands seemed to have
gone completely dry, ensuring that I was not able to say anything, which for
anyone who knows me, probably was a good thing.
I went into every single room in
the children’s area in search of my son while my wife kept my other two
children and constantly told the next person who came her way what we were
looking for. At one point, I looked at
my wife and mouthed the words, “Keystone Cops.”
I was doing my best to keep a positive perspective in the midst of
this. Fortunately for me, I did not stop
anywhere long enough to engage in conversation with anyone. Unfortunately for my wife, she did. So, she heard the endlessly long list of
stupid things that people say to you when you are in the midst of a moment of
panic. She heard comments like, “This
has never happened before” and, “He can’t have gone far” and better yet, “He
has to be safe.” While those things may
all have been true, they were definitely not what she needed to hear at the
moment.
Meanwhile, I went back towards
the auditorium to see if I caught a glimpse of my son. I scanned the crowds to no avail. As I headed back towards the children’s area,
I noticed a single door just outside of the children’s area. As I approached, I heard the sound of
children inside. As I came closer to the
door, I looked through the window and caught a glimpse of my son on the window
sill, surrounded by girls, and looking outside at the pouring rain. I took a deep breath and opened the door.
I called his name and he ran to
me. That embrace can’t be described by thousands
of words. I looked up at the teacher and
told her that we had been looking everywhere for him. She said that he had been there the whole
time. Well, thank you, Captain Obvious,
so glad that you let the rest of the world know that as well. Chalk it up to one more comment that would
have been better left unspoken.
I picked my son up and walked out
the door to find the rest of my family. Turns
out they put my 3 year old in a First and Second Grade class. Not quite sure how that happened, and neither
was he. As I approached them, I could
see the relief in my wife’s eyes. As we
were all reunited, we quickly began making our way towards the exit as some of
the children’s workers followed us, attempting to do “damage control.” To be honest, we couldn’t get out of there
fast enough.
Pretty crummy way to start our
vacation, but we were grateful that our child had only been misplaced for a
time. While it may seem insignificant to
most people, it was a pretty big deal to us in the 25-30 minutes that we were
searching for our son. It certainly felt
like an eternity and I can’t even begin to imagine how parents feel who lose
their children public places. It
certainly left me anxious and agitated for the rest of the week every time that
we went out into a public place with lots of kids like the beach or an
amusement park.
The Wednesday following this
Sunday, I got a phone call on my cell phone.
It was the associate pastor from the church. I think the senior pastor must have been on
vacation because this associate pastor was the one who had preached while we
were there. He called to apologize and
see how everyone was doing. I expressed
my appreciation for his concern and he told me that they were taking the
incident as an opportunity for a learning experience. I said that I was going to do the same. I assured him that we were not in danger of
being turned off to God because of the experience, though I did let him know
that I was thankful that it happened to us and not someone who was simply
coming to check out the church for the first time.
Not sure if we will find our way
back to that church in the future. I am
a firm believer in grace, but I also believe that first impressions go a long
way. While I don’t hold any bitter
feelings, I don’t know that I would easily go back to a place where my child
seemingly disappeared for half an hour.
The afternoon after the incident,
we made our way through the torrential rain to our destination which was Plan B
for us. We were incredibly grateful to
be together as a family, despite the rain.
All afternoon, my 3 year old continued to say, “Why did they put me in
First Grade?” We just kept reassuring
him that it wasn’t his fault. Finally,
after about the 10th time of him asking the question, his 5 year old
brother looked over at him and said, “Well, that’s the mystery, isn’t it?” Yup, buddy, that sure is the mystery!
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