The Cost of Forgetting
After picking up Emerson Randle and her mum Lindsey, from Edinburgh Airport, we took the tram into town, heading for Princes Street and onto the Military Tattoo.
Most of the way we were deep in conversation, so much so that when we got to our stop, I stepped off without a second thought and the tram pulled away.
That’s when I realised: my backpack was still on board!
Suddenly, I realised that it had everything in it…
Car keys. House keys. Wallet. Passport. The works.
I didn’t even think. I just ran.
I took off along Princes Street like I hadn’t in years, dodging pedestrians and trying to keep the tram in sight.
Luckily, the tram hit two red lights, which was just enough time for me to catch up and frantically try to get the driver’s attention through the glass.
I must have looked a wee bit ridiculous as I mimed through the glass, but thankfully she seemed to understand.
She held the tram at St. Andrew Square long enough for me to jump back on and grab my bag.
Back on the platform, I sat down, completely exhausted, my legs like jelly, but so relieved.
Reflecting this morning, that moment has stayed with me.
Not just because of the panic or the running, but because of how quickly I dropped everything to chase after what I’d lost.
That backpack wouldn’t have meant much to anyone else, but to me, every one of the items inside really mattered and I had to retrieve it there and then.
The Lesson
It made me think of the parables in Luke 15, the lost sheep, the lost coin, the lost son.
In every story, something of great worth was missing.
And in every story, someone goes looking.
They search.
They don’t give up.
There is even some running.
And when it’s found, there’s relief, joy and even celebration – I certainly experienced all three!
It’s a reminder that what’s lost still matters deeply, because it’s not just something, it’s someone’s. It belongs.
How quickly do you act when something of real value slips away?
