The Ledger

By Jennifer Greene-Sullivan

Monday evening, my family and I spent a glorious day on vacation in Savannah. We were gathered outside our camper while Chris grilled burgers and hotdogs, and Liam rode his bike through the loops of our campground. The evening felt peaceful—until it didn’t.

A neighbor hurried toward us, her voice trembling with urgency.

“Have you seen my son? He’s wearing a tie-dyed shirt and glasses. He’s eight.”

Liam answered quickly, “I rode with Henry a few minutes ago.”

“How long ago?” she asked. “We can’t find him. He’s missing.”

In an instant, everything changed.

She gave us her campsite number, and we spread out in different directions, calling Henry’s name and scanning the shadows. Darkness had settled over the campground, and although the lights were on, the uncertainty weighed heavily. Minutes stretched into nearly half an hour, and the tension only grew.

Then Liam came riding back.

“They found him!”

Relief washed over us.

Henry hadn’t wandered far. His grandfather had been roughhousing with him, and when Henry became upset, he did what many of us have done—he ran and hid. They found him tucked away inside his camper, quietly playing a game on his tablet.

What could have been a dangerous situation ended safely, but the moment stayed with me.

Henry didn’t know how to express his frustration, so he withdrew. Instead of using his words, he hid.

If I’m honest, I’ve done the same.

Maybe not in a campground, but in my heart.

There have been times when hurt, anger, or disappointment overwhelmed me, and instead of bringing those emotions to the Lord, I allowed them to settle. Left unspoken and unaddressed, they began to fester. That festering affected my decisions, my relationships, and my walk with Christ.

Scripture reminds us that we are never too far gone.

Jesus tells the story of a shepherd who leaves the ninety-nine to seek the one lost sheep. He doesn’t wait for the sheep to find its way back. He goes after it.

Just as an entire group of campers searched for Henry that night, our Good Shepherd pursues us when we run and hide. He is not deterred by our silence, our anger, or our attempts to withdraw. He seeks us out, meets us in our mess, and gently brings us back into the fold.

Wherever you find yourself today—running, hiding, or somewhere in between—it is not too late to respond to His voice. You can trust Him with your hurt, your frustration, and your fears.

You are worth finding.

When He lifts us from the places we tried to hide, He doesn’t condemn us. He restores us. He reminds us that we are still His.

That’s the beauty of grace.

Torn wings still fly because our Shepherd never stops coming after us.

The very next day, Henry and Liam rode their bikes together again.

What was lost had been found.