Lost And Found

I am at a loss. Does it need to be found? Where is the loss and found? In the back of the church, a box full of rosaries and prayer books lie in wait for former or new owners to take hold. Two boys walk into the church. Not lost boys, altar boys, believing in the magic of the church into which they strode.

Grabbing the box of treasures forgotten, the boys pondered the mysteries of the rosaries all tangled with each other, holding on in a celtic knot of unbelonging. Nimble fingers began their work to ungnarl the tangled prayers long ago sent. Diligent workers they, the boys, no one sent them on this penance, no one knew they were there, save the angels and saints that lurked about on the stained glass film ***** of salvation's story.

The pious one spied the water font full of blessed waters. He ushered his friend and the celtic prayer knot to the font. In one motion they dipped it in. One for the father, one for the son and one for the holy spirit. The knot untangled in their nimble fingers after that. Each rosary displayed and laid out on the back pew.

Where is the loss and found for the prayers and those who made them only to leave them behind in the shelter of this church? Carefully laid back in the box, the rosaries nestled once again. No more wrestling for them, each waiting fingers to caress and hearts to pray with them again.

The boys made their way to the candles and then back out to the street. It would be more simple each thought to each other, if we all could tangle and untangle so. Where is the lost and found for the boys as they headed back through town?

I am at a loss. Each knew they had to be found. There are no boxes for them. No caring boys around to untangle their gnarls and knots. They pass us by each day. Waiting to be carried and dipped in some or another way. Each prayer they toughed that day must have shown them a way, each step they took they knew where they were. They were lost trying to find the next day.