Lost

Emily pounded on my bedroom door. “Logan! Your phone just called me!” What? Immediately, the house awoke. Everyone began to frantically dial my number. Surely, this was my iPhone butt-dialing on its way to the pawn shop. It’s gotta be stolen. 

I was so angry at myself.

After a few minutes, a call finally came through to Ann’s phone. She paused, too surprised to speak. I snatched the phone and entered game mode. The man on the other line responded with an apartment address in Campbell. I told him to stay put – I’d be there in fifteen minutes with a $50 reward.

Four of us jumped in the car and sped away. There’s power in numbers, right? I needed a getaway car driver, a sidekick, and a ready-to-go 911-dialer. I imagined the worst possible scenario and prepared myself. Google maps led us to a rundown apartment complex. Apartment #22. I waited.

A smiling man greeted me, emerging from the dark of the apartment hallway. His gentle demeanor cast a net of calmness that encompassed my nervous self. He reached into a ragged sweatshirt pocket and handed me a shiny metallic red present – my phone. I thanked him continuously, unable to put my gratitude into words. When I handed him the wad of cash, however, he reacted differently than I had anticipated.

“You are a student. You need the money. I have a job! I’m a taxi driver. Please, keep your money.”

I often feel like I’ve got it together, until something happens, and I realize I’m little lost.

Then, right before my eyes, He sheds light onto the beauty in life – compassion.

And then I’m found.

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