You always hear these horror stories, about toddlers falling into a pool or getting tangled up in a blinds cord after their parents turned away for just a few minutes. Car accidents happen, third degree burns happen, trampoline accidents and teenage alcohol poisoning and wandering down the street all happen. Parents take their children to chemotherapy appointments every single day.
Lately I’ve been keenly aware of the unfairness of this juxtaposition, that I would so fiercely protect my children from all this harm… and that I have zero control over it. I’m not passionate about much. I’m not passionate about any sports teams. I don’t passionately play music or passionately dream about orphanages in Honduras. I wouldn’t even say that I am passionate about writing… but I am definitely passionate about my family. About marriage and motherhood, about being a wife and being a mother.
It makes me crazy to think that the thing that means the most to me in this world could actually pretty easily be taken away from me. Car accidents, swimming pools and creeks, long blinds cords, cleaning solutions accidentally left out on the counter, electric outlets, pans of boiling water with the handle sticking out… it’s actually pretty obvious to me that God is looking out for my little ones when I see how many potential disasters lurk around every corner, especially when we go places that haven’t been babyproofed.
I always wonder how I would respond if my faith were tested through a serious illness or injury (or worse) with my husband or children. I like to think I’d hold strong to my faith. I know what I believe—that God does not control everything and that the accidents and illnesses that come with this fallen world break his heart too—but still, I don’t know. I could see myself slamming my fist into a wall and shouting, “Why don’t you do something?! Why don’t you fix this?!”
Kendra Fletcher had a horrific 18 months—she found her baby in a coma, she fractured her five-year-old’s pelvis by running her over with their vehicle, and then her eight-year-old almost died from a burst appendix—but she still managed to hold onto her faith.
I knew in the moment I read the description that I just had to read Lost& Found. The book was super short—under a hundred pages—but I doubt that’s why I flew through it so quickly. On top of being extremely interested in the stories, I was very moved by Kendra’s writing.
She had a lot of good things to say, but I especially enjoyed her thoughts on legalism in Christianity. If you don’t know what that is, that’s basically the act of accidentally replacing the gospel with rules and regulations. Wearing only skirts and never pants, for example, instead of acknowledging that maybe God would like that better, or maybe he doesn’t really care at all, but either way he still loves you and sent Jesus for YOU, you pants-wearing heathen. (Talking about myself here, since I used to not wear pants!) (But I wore skirts. Just to clarify. I wasn’t naked)
I think Kendra has a lot of great things to say to all of us, but this book will most likely resonate best with parents. Because she has children ranging in ages from young baby to teenager, I think parents with children of any age (including those whose children are all grown-up) can relate and enjoy the points she makes.*I received a free copy of this book from Litfuse in exchange for an honest review