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Waldo, the Lizard Tie Clasp

trib-al's picture
Submitted by trib-al on Thu, 09/24/2009 - 17:48

 

     Years ago, while serving as a pastor in Bozeman, Montana, I was given a tie clasp. It was a silver gecko. It had been handcrafted by the man my heavenly Father sent in answer to my prayer as a boy that went like this, “Dear Daddy in heaven, please be with my daddy on earth and if you can’t bring him back, please send a new daddy.” I prized that gift and proudly wore it every chance I got. (Serving as the pastor of two churches and Director of Campus Ministry at Mt. Ellis Academy gave me plenty of opportunities to do so.)  The students at Mt. Ellis Academy insisted that I name the gecko and after much thought, I named the tie clasp, Waldo. I’m not sure why except that Waldo the Gecko had a sort of rhyme to it. As a result, and not surprisingly, whenever I showed up anywhere without that lizard tie clasp, someone would invariably ask me, “Where’s Waldo?” It was a question I promised to never ask, no matter what.
     One winter evening, I was asked to speak at a seminar for teachers and youth leaders. I had arrived early with a friend of mine, Larry Unterseher, who at the time was the Education Superintendent for the Montana Conference.  It had been snowing all day and the parking lot was covered with ice and blowing snow. Ice and snow, I might add, was the exact color of Waldo the Gecko tie clasp.
     I’m usually a “back row” person – attention deficit disorder almost requires it. But, as one of the featured speakers, I was expected to sit in the front row next to Larry. I tried to sit still and listen to the Conference President’s opening remarks, but before I knew it I was fidgeting, playing with my tie, rolling it up to my neck and letting it unroll again. Suddenly, I realized that Waldo, the lizard tie clasp, was gone. Without thinking I jumped up from my seat.
     Larry, looking somewhat startled, grabbed my sleeve and whispered, “What’s wrong?”               
     “Where’s Waldo?” I asked.
     “Sit down. I’ll get the book and you can look for him later.”
     “Larry, I’ve got to find him now!”  Realizing I was drawing undue attention, I hurried up the aisle and out into the parking lot. 
     I checked the car. No Waldo.
     I looked under the car. No Waldo.
     Then I remembered to pray. I took three steps away from the car and there at my feet, half covered by snow, was Waldo, the Gecko tie clasp.
* * *
     For two years after my son had been released from military duty, I received late night phone calls. With each phone call I could feel my heart coming apart. During those two years my son became a meth addict. In each late night conversation he would ask me two questions: does God love me, do you think He will forgive me? Sometimes, he’d want to hear stories from the life of Christ or stories from the Old Testament. Sometimes, he’d just want me to pray. During those two years, just like the years before, I never stopped loving my son. I never stopped offering to come and get him. I never stopped praying for him.
     Admittedly, I argued with God, feeling like my prayers weren’t being heard, at times feeling angry with Him. Mostly, I pleaded with Him, offering to trade my life for my son’s life, if only He would protect my son and lead him out of the dark world he was in. Then one day I received the call that changed everything: the call that reminded me of God’s Tender Love for us, the call that had me scrambling to ask God’s forgiveness for the times I was angry with Him, the call that brought healing, not only for me, but my son, as well.
     “Dad, were you praying for me last night?”
     I had been. The previous night I woke with a start, adrenalin racing through me like a wildfire. I tried to discover the cause. First, searching the house for an intruder and then walking around outside the house, looking for something out of the ordinary. Josh came to mind and I couldn’t help but think that maybe I needed to pray for him. I did, until sunrise.
     “The strangest thing happened, Dad. I was on the street trying to make a score and find a place to sleep. I approached a Native American. He told me to follow him and when we were away from everyone he turned, looked me straight in the eye and said, ‘You don’t belong out here. This isn’t what your life is supposed to be. God has something different in mind. You need to leave the street now.’”
     From that moment on, my son stopped using meth. It has been a long hard road for him. He’s not perfect. (Come to think of it – none of us are.) But, not a day passes that he doesn’t commune with the Father or study His word, looking for strength and understanding. Now our phone conversations are about the goals he’s striving toward, his love for God, answered prayers or things he wants me to remember in prayer. Sometimes, he calls just to say, “Dad, I love you.”
     What more could a father ask? What more could we ask of one another? What more could we ask of ourselves?
    Since then, Josh has been back to those streets – looking for the Indian that pointed him in the right direction with a few simple words. But, no one knows who he was. And, no one has seen him.
     God moves in ways we can’t begin to comprehend. What concerns us, concerns the Father; whether those concerns come in the form of a small tie clasp or the forms of our sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, grandparents, loved ones and friends.
     As I’ve written this, sharing the experience for the first time and with my son’s permission, I can’t help but think of the following two texts: “I will search for the lost and bring back the strays. I will bind up the injured and strengthen the weak…” (EZE. 34:16, NIV). And, Jesus said, “For the Son of Man came to seek and to save what was lost” (LK. 19:10, NIV).
~ Pastor Al