The Lumber Yard

The back of our house was being remodeled. We were adding a large covered patio and had a couple of men working on it. These guys were friends of my husbands and one of them asked if I would run to the lumber yard to get a few things so they could finish an area before the weekend.

With the two older children in school and Blaine at home (Being only 4), He and I could jump into the car to get what they wanted.

The lumber yard is a wonderful place. There are piles of lumber all over in the yard, the hardware is found in the building. I look around for what I thought they will want. My job was to make sure that the boards weren't twisted (they get that way laying around in the yard after being dried out) also checking that they didn't have a lot of knots in them, a few knots will be O.K. on the project that they are doing.

Finally I am ready to check out so we load the stuff into my station wagon, now where is my four year old. He was running around the piles of lumber and hiding behind things in the yard. The yard is all fenced in with an 8 foot wooden fence so he has to be in here. The guy that was helping me organize my purchase is now helping me look for him. There is no way he could have gotten out of here so it is just a matter of finding out where he is.

After spending about an hour looking for him under and over everything, I know that I am holding up the guys at the house so I give my phone number to the salesman and tell him that when my son shows up, call me and I will be back in 10 minutes. I get into the car and take the lumber home.

On arriving home, I find that my four year old is home and helping the carpenters. I asked when he got home and they tell me that some man dropped him off about half an hour ago. The man asked them if this little boy lived there. The carpenter said that he did.

Then the man mentioned that he was a doctor that lived 300 miles south of this town but that he found this little boy on the street so he said that he would take him home. The boy directed him to this house. My four year old told me that he went out the door at the lumberyard and didn't know where I was so he stood on the street until this man stopped and wanted to know where he lived.

How many times in a lifetime do we come close to losing things that are important to us? Is it a sign that perhaps they don't belong to us in the first place. At what point are we supposed to let go?