Lost Boys Like Me

The Way to Neverland

We were living at my grandmother’s house; my father’s mother. I was 5, and plenty had already happened to me.

Someone rented this movie called Hook, probably my dad. My parents both had night shifts at Anthony’s pizza. I don’t remember my Grandma Shirley building me a sheet tent any other time, but she did on this night. I laid on my stomach, disappearing into that magical place that sheet tents provide for a kid. There were chocolate chip cookies and a movie I’d never heard of being put on.

Peter Panning was old; grumpy and boring, and completely disconnected. But then Julia Roberts entered the scene, and my heart began to drift into another world, as she led Peter and myself past the clock, through the clouds and into the morning light.

I’ll probably never forget that night.

I loved Disney’s version of Peter Pan, but Hook… it made this fantasy feel more tangible. More real. Something I could achieve, at least in my heart. The sad thing I missed as a child was that Hook was a story of family reconciliation. It encouraged coming back to reality, not leaving it.

But I wanted to leave.

A few weeks ago, several people (including my husband) messaged me within a few hours of each other telling me to listen to this song called Lost Boy by Ruth B. I’m not sure why, but I ignored the first several suggestions. But after the 4th person asked me if I had listened to it, I caved. I laid down on my bed with ear buds, which is unusual for me to do when listening to a suggested song. But there was a prickle inside me to really hear it. It started, and I don’t think I even got through the first chorus and I was already sobbing.

“I am a lost boy from Neverland, usually hanging out with Peter Pan and when we’re bored we play in the woods, always on the run from Captain Hook. “Run, run, lost boy, ” they say to me. Away from all of reality.”

Someone wrote a song about me.

How did she know? How could she have known what happened in my heart all of those years ago in that sheet tent?

Peter Pan, Tinker Bell, Wendy Darling, even Captain Hook, you are my perfect story book…

I felt out of place as a child. It’s difficult to describe, but it was like I was living and watching the world happen around me like it was a sequence of images that I wasn’t a part of, but could stick my hand in and walk around. I felt weird and different, and often rejected. I became familiar with loneliness when I was 3. I remember feeling it in my loft- yes, I had a loft, with stairs that led up to it and everything. An extra room in our townhouse just for me, filled with stuffed animals and toys… and loneliness.

I love my siblings deeply, but having them only further solidified that distance and rejection I felt on a regular basis. My parents were just trying to survive, and no one ever seemed to know how to live well or fix all of the broken. Everyone was just surviving with painted smiles on their faces, and I saw it from the beginning. I remember realizing I needed this man called Jesus when I was 3, but even knowing he was there-ish, there wasn’t a clinging-to with Him, because I didn’t know how to even do that.

Along came Peter Pan. I remember closing my eyes late at night and imagining Tinker Bell pattering on my window until I let her in; flying above my head and sprinkling a sparkly fix that would lift me into the air and take me away.

…”As we soared above the town that never loved me, I realized I finally had a family, Soon enough we reached Neverland, peacefully my feet hit the sand and ever since that day…”

…it’s had a decent amount of my heart. You’ve heard me talk about Peter Pan over the years; it’s why so many people sent me the song saying “this reminds me so much of you!”

It wasn’t until I listened to it that I realized that it’s not a good thing that Ruth B’s song reminds you of me.

For a massive portion of my life on earth so far, I’ve allowed a fantasy to be my family. I’ve been in community with a fairy tale. As I type this, a sick feeling rises in my stomach and my skin feels awkward and tingly. My flesh is completely uncomfortable with sharing this with you because it wants to keep it to itself, like an invisible security blanket. I’ll walk outside, and participate with others, and laugh and cry and experience life… with my secret blanky.

Writing this is like leaving my blanky on the bed and stepping out into the world without it.

You know what just came to my mind as I typed that last sentence? Oh my gosh, I totally forgot about this.

In a Charlie Brown Christmas, after Charlie Brown gets that pathetic tree and everyone is pissed at him, he yells “Isn’t there anyone who knows what Christmas is all about?” Linus proceeds to share the story of Jesus birth, and when he says, “and the angel said unto them, ‘fear not…'” he drops his blanket, and proceeds to tell the rest of the story. What a subtle yet massive example of the power Christ has over fear.

Even though I claim to be a child of God, I’ve still been holding onto my lost boy identity. I succumbed to it when I was 5 and I’m almost 30, and it’s still in there.

I can’t be both.

I’m not a lost boy.

I’m a marvel made from dirt by the hands of the Beginning and the End, the Creator of the universe, a universe that holds worlds much more magnificent than Neverland. I belong to the 3-in-1, which puts even the best of fantasies to shame and the thing science will never be able to explain.


You know why that song feels like someone figured out a way to get into my heart and then write a tune about how I feel?

Because everyone feels this way, at some point. I’m not special. We all walk around each other, lost boys with nerve endings on the outside, recoiling at the slightest blow of the wind. We have all felt weird and out of place and rejected.

It’s why stories like Peter Pan, Harry Potter, The Grinch, and many others are so wildly adored. They are stories of outcasts who finally find what they are looking for- a place to belong.

I’m coming to realize that so much of our reactions come out of that desperate place of wanting to be loved and accepted and known. That breaks my heart. IT BREAKS MY HEART THAT WE ARE THIS WAY. That someone, anyone, millions of people, right now in this moment, are feeling left out, abandoned, and forgotten.

The truth is, God wants YOU, and He welcomes you in, exactly the way you are, lost and all. He’s not gonna let you stay a lost boy though. If you walk towards Him, He’s going to spend the entirety of your life getting into that beat up heart of yours and pull all of the yuck out. All of those lies you’ve ever believed and all of the things you cling to. He wants you found and free, not lost. He’s gonna give you family that transcends earthly blood, and redeems all of the broken bits and pieces that have left you terrified of people and vulnerability. He’s gonna do it through celebrations, and sufferings, and conflict and reconciliation, and it’s all gonna produce a joy in you that can’t be explained. You’ll be known, and you’ll belong, and there won’t be anything anyone or you can do to change that.

You don’t have to be a lost boy, and I don’t have to be either.





Yesterday was really bad, and I couldn’t tell you exactly why if you asked. But it was just one of those days, ya know? Where your mind is broken and your heart hates not being in control. Last night I laid on the couch and cried. The day was filled with unmet promises to Abe and me dozing off while feeding the baby and pumping at the same time (please don’t ask me why I’m not breast feeding). Small group had left, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had failed them all somehow.

My 4 year old sat down next to my head and asked me what was wrong. I told him I was feeling very overwhelmed and like a complete failure. I cried harder and apologized for not getting to play hide and seek with him even though I promised I would. He had a pensive look on his face and said, It’s ok, mom. Emery needed all of your attention today.” I smiled and thanked him for being gracious and understanding, to which he replied, “It makes you feel good.”

Oh yeah. It does. I forgot. Grace does make me feel good. I wish I didn’t resist it like I often do.

About a half an hour later, Daniel was holding Emery and trying to get him to stop crying. The more Emery cried, the more Daniel got flustered until he finally gave up and handed the baby over to me. He got up and went outside, leaving us in the living room. Abe turned to me on the couch and said, “Mom, you need to pray for daddy tonight because he is afraid of being a daddy to two boys and thinks he’s bad at it. I pray for him all of the time.” My jaw dropped.

When Daniel tucked him into bed, I could hear sniffles echoing from the room. When Daniel emerged from his room tear-eyed, he told me that Abe had prayed for him, but it wasn’t his regular kind of prayer that usually only makes sense to Abe. It was an intercession for his daddy and a plea for help. And then he went to sleep.

It’s humbling to watch the Holy Spirit use a child to remind us of the gospel things we so easily forget and can’t seem to give to ourselves, especially when the usual prescription for reminders looks like our kids pushing us to our limits. But not yesterday. Yesterday it came in the form of a 4 year old understanding things more clearly than I do 99 percent of the time.

I can’t believe God would allow me to live in a home with people that fight for each other.

Grace floweth over.


Abe’s Life: Loneliness

AbeHave you ever thought about what it would be like to travel back into time to when you were younger, and watch yourself from the fly on the wall’s perspective?

Having a child is very much like that. You’re not as useless as you’d be from the fly’s perspective, but you can’t really control the way things go either.

There is loneliness in his eyes, and while I think a sibling might help, I don’t think it’s going to fill the longing in his little heart that’s been there since the day we met.

My mom said she watched me play alone on the beach, and she saw those eyes. She knew it was time to have another child so that I could have someone to play with. And while I love my sister very much, that still didn’t fill the gaping hole that made itself known through my eyes.

Having Abram as my son has been like time travel. I’ve been given this human to watch over and care for that is so much like me. I am deeply familiar with that loneliness I see in his eyes everyday, because it’s the same gaze that looked back at me in the mirror for so much of my life.

I watch him with his friends. His anticipation to be with them next is sweet at best and annoying at worst, but as soon as he’s with them, that gaze settles back in. That overwhelming feeling of being alone shows up on his face in a room full of peers and laughter.

He’s so desperate in his quest to feel like he belongs. It’s why he got so bent out of shape last week when I told him our television didn’t belong to him, but just to us and that we let him use it. The thought of him not being included in that ownership wrecked him.

It’s why, no matter how many times a day we tell him that 1) we love him and 2) he’s not alone, he still falls apart when we ask him to go play in his room.

I could go on and on with the examples I’ve taken note of and observed to explain the longing that I see in my son, but continuing to write them out would just make me sob, and I’ve already done that once today.

What’s so hard about this part of my job as Abe’s mother is that there’s nothing I can do to convince him of the truth. I can teach it to him formally, I can have dozens upon dozens of conversations with him about what he’s going through and what I’ve gone through, we can fight about it and then pray until our voices give out. But at the end of the day, there’s no transaction of truth we can make that will leave his heart convinced until the God that created and treasures him convinces Abram Himself.

I anticipate the day when I see that lonely look turn into one of peace and satisfaction. The fact that I can’t control when that happens doesn’t mean I’m going to give up telling my son the truth, day in and day out. My job is to help him plow the fields of his heart and sow the seeds. The growth, the changing of seasons and the pruning- that’s not up to me.

And I have to surrender to that reality everyday.