Found
– Renee Adele Phillips
I dream that I hold a snow globe. When I look closely into it, I see a little girl in a coat with a bright red scarf.
She’s wandering through snowy fields and forests, all by herself.
Such a little girl, to be so alone.
But she is alone, arms wrapped tightly around herself—small comfort in this world where she believes no one sees her. No one hears her.
I do. I see her. And if I put my ear to the glass, I hear her:
Find me.
She shivers. I see tears on her small face. And I hear her say it, again and again:
Find me. Please. Somebody find me.
But no one comes.
Years pass. And still she wanders through this globe in my dream, all alone, the pain on her face speaking of a wound so deep that her spirit breaks a bit more with every heartbeat.
She’s too fragile for this world, too weak to bear it—
and no one understands.
My cheeks are wet with tears as I listen to her whispering:
Find me. Please find me.
Now the trees have grown tall enough to brush the top of the globe and block the light through the glass.
If not for her red scarf, threadbare though it is, I wouldn’t be able to see her.
The snow has nearly buried her, and she lies under its weight, broken and still,
except for the faintest whisper:
Find me. Before it’s too late. Find me.
I’m afraid it’s already too late. I want to wake from this dream before I have to see how it ends.
I begin to pray, just two words, over and over:
Find her. Find her. Find her.
And still, the snow falls.
In the absolute quiet of this globe that I hold,
I hear a voice calling to her:
Find Me. Find Me.
But she looks frozen; there are no more whispers. Only silence.
I focus my prayers on her, willing her to hold on. It can’t be too late. Not now. Not when she’s finally been found.
Find Him, I say, though I know she can’t hear me. Look up. And find Him.
Again and again, I say it. And finally, she stirs, listening to His voice:
I’m here. I’m so close. Find Me.
Slowly, slowly, so very slowly, she drags herself to her knees.
Her voice is so soft I almost can’t hear it:
Help me. Help me find You.
Instantly, the globe shatters in my hand; the trees wash away; the snow turns into glitter,
leaving me holding just the base of the globe.
All that remains on it is her, on her knees, her face turned heavenward.
She disappears from my sight as the shadow of a hand covers her.
But I can still hear her, her voice strong now, though it trembles as she cries:
You found me. You found me!
He answers her. And I think that if love had a sound, it would be His voice, saying these words:
Oh, my child. I died so that I could find you. I rose so that you could find Me.
I picture the wonder on her face as she asks, Why?
Somehow I know that His answer is what she’s been looking for all her life:
Because I love you. You’re mine. Let Me carry you to the life I have waiting for you.
I hear her once more, her voice muffled—against His shoulder, I imagine:
Found. I’m found.
I wake, and the dream is forgotten, slipping away as dreams do—transient, ephemeral.
In the snow light that brightens my room, I see a red thread on my pillow
and—for some reason I don’t know—I think, Found.
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Comments 12
Way to go girl, love your talent you need to writing more than blogs, your words could help so many people!
Grover–I just saw your comment. Thank you so much for such kind words and for your encouragement.
I thank our Father that He is always searching for the ones who are lost, and that He can see what we can’t without His help. I thank Him, too, that He gives the gift of writing to some, and that you are willing to communicate God’s love and work through the gift He gave to you. Finally, I thank Him this morning that He invites us to be a part of finding and rescuing the lost — what a privilege!
Heather–I thank Him, too. Thank you for your kind words; my heart is full of the need to communicate God’s love. and I hope so much that I can do it. It certainly is, a you said, a privilege.
I love the creativity with which you wrote this. I think that little girl lives in all of us if we but look closely and I also see this wee girl in others, as you already know. I may not see it the way you just described but I too can hear her if I listen intently and closely, I hear the almost inaudible whispers of that child so lost n so many ways and it breaks my heart.
So beautifully written and expressed in so many ways, especially that small red thread left behind for you to acknowledge, to know it is real if only to you.
Found indeed. May we be reminded to be observant, to listen deeply and intently and reach out our hand in solidarity and grasp another hand to the one ” lost”, the one almost “drowning”, the one who’s “tears” are never ending and to the one who seemingly sees no more ” light”.
God bless you as He gives you eyes to see and ears to hear and write what he whispers in your ear.
Klara–I knew you’d understand this. I have been that little girl; I still am in many ways–but I am found. And I’m so grateful. Thank you for your careful reading of words that are so precious to me–this is my heart. Love to you.
Your heart and my heart beat the same in many ways. I wrote a poem about me, that kind of represents what you wrote in a different fashion! Love to you, you are so special to me!
And you to me–so very special.
Powerful and thought-provoking. Your writing talent never ceases to amaze me!
Thank you, my Monty. You executed my vision so beautifully, as always.
Sparrow, today’s Blog, found if’s Way straight to My Heart. I have not called, for Jesus, until my “senior years”. Conveniently, bypassing Him. Oh, going through th3 “Prayer Motions”, so to speak. I have mentioned My Mom, in several of my Blog responses, Mom was always calling, on My Behalf. Your song “, Softly and Tenderly”, was Jesus reply to my Mom’s Prayers, Jes is caling , Me,, “Harold, come home”.Jesus knows I am weary, from my traveling the “wayward path”. My prayer tonJesus, “Yes, Jesus, I am ready, to follow you.Here I am , Lord. I have come home, to you”. A hymn, one of my favorites, “Amazing Grace”. Lord, Ibonce was lost, now am found”. Thank you, for saving, “This wretch”. Sparrow, once again, Your Blog went straight to my Heart.You Are a Blessing………❤️TexGen
TexGen–thank you for such kind words. Your story about your mom praying for you is so moving. And I love this: “Here I am, Lord, I have come home to you.” The wayward path does make you weary, doesn’t it? It’s so much easier to do what we were created to do and follow God’s path. I’m so glad that you liked this post. And you are a blessing to me!