lost in Jersey, caught in New York City. . .

This I know about myself: when I am lost, I struggle with fear. . .

Last Saturday John and I left Richmond, Virginia, headed towards Boston.

I'm the navigator. . .reading printed map directions, I navigated neatly around Baltimore, but somehow, somewhere I missed a line and instead of getting on the New Jersey turnpike, we stayed on I-40 east. . .the scenery was lovely and I was reading aloud to John.

hmm, I guess if we drive far enough east we'll hit the ocean, I told my husband. . .

Indeed, we hit the ocean, in Atlantic City, imagine that? And then we were lost. . . in Atlantic City.

Heart, why are you fearful? And of course, every city has a way out. . .

Yet more confusion-toll roads, turnpike tickets, a maze of highway arteries, an intense traffic snarl in New York City (how did we end up in Manhattan?)

Heart, why are you fearful?

I texted our kids, Pray! We're tied up in New York City-Scarey! (one cheeky girl suggested we visit Central Park and the Empire State Building.)

We crossed the George Washington Bridge, and of course, every city has a way out. . .

That morning as John and I wandered east through New Jersey, I was reading to him from the autobiography of Patricia St. John. She writes of the Morracan children who packed into her little room to hear the parable of the lost sheep, of their delight, amazement. . .The man having a hundred sheep, if he he has lost one, leaves the ninety-nine and goes after the one that is lost, until he finds it. . .then he carries it home on his shoulders, rejoicing (Lk 15)

And such is the Good Shepherd, always. . .