Fashionably Late

What man among you, if he has a hundred sheep and has lost one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the open pasture and go after the one which is lost until he finds it?…I tell you that in the same way, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance.”
(Luke 15:4,7)

“Who is this coming up from the wilderness
Leaning on her beloved?”
(Song of Songs 8:5)

My heart goes out to underdogs.

People who seem to never be invited to the party.

The last people grudgingly chosen.

Who can’t buy a friend on Facebook.Whose followers are few and far between.

They just want someone to sit with them and listen for awhile. To be someone’s hero. For once.

But knowing there’s only a snowball’s chance for them.

There’s something you need to know.

The party cannot start without you.

You’re out there in the sticker bushes and thickets, alone and woefully sad. Could someone please come looking for me?

I’m here to tell you, He is following you.

He has told a houseful of eager celebrants to hold off partying while He goes to corral a special guest. You. Because, He explains, the party is just a crowded room with ambient noise unless you take part.

You think no one cares. You think you’re just collateral. A charwoman who’s only good to clean up after a ball.

But what you couldn’t even possibly suspect is that there is a place-card at the dinner table with your name written on it in a well-scripted Hand. The same finger that pointed the stars in their place, carved the Ten Words in stone tablets and touched a leper wrote your name so you would know that you belong there. And He wouldn’t dream of leaving you out.

To that end, He has tracked you to where you are. He hears all your bawls and bleats. He reads your tweets. Your trail of tears has not been difficult to follow and He has relentlessly pursued you. Now His crook is gently poised to foster you out of the brambles and brush.

Come here, My lamb.

To Him, you are Cinderella, and His shoulders are your carriage.

There’s a party to get to. And you have a prominent place.

In His way of doing things, in His Kingdom, the last, lost and least are first. The friendless get friended. The underdogs become overachievers. The poor in spirit get the keys of the Kingdom. Those who mourn get a place at the adult table.

C’mon. The party’s just starting and you’re not late. Your fashionably late.


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