Lost

When I was five years old, I got lost at the Minnesota Zoo. It was a busy Saturday, I was stubbornly refusing to hold anyone's hand as we moved about, and every dad and their brother was wearing jeans and the same color Izod polo shirt (I think it was red), including mine. I followed the wrong guy into a building, and by the time I realized that, my dad was nowhere to be seen. I looked around desperately for a minute or two, then approached the desk, huge tears welling up in my eyes.

I didn't understand how these things worked, didn't realize I was actually safe and had gone to the right people who would help me find my dad - rather, I was certain I was going to end up in an orphanage, and/or with my picture on the side of a milk carton, never to see my family again. A nice lady, an employee of the zoo, sat me on top of the desk and started asking my name and where I was from, and listened patiently, trying to discern my answers through the sobs. Just then my dad walked in the door to report me missing - I don't think either of us have ever been so happy to see each other as in that moment.

I share this because on Monday, I got "lost" in New York. I have been to New York City several times and know my way around well (man, do I love that place - it's like an endless State Fair!). Dad and Brenda had never been, so we spent the day being tourists, riding the City Sights on/off tour bus. At Ground Zero, we were crossing the street with a large group of people that split in two, and Dad and Brenda went left toward St. Paul's Chapel, while I went right to go further down the block and see if we could find another vantage point on the reconstruction. I thought they were behind me, but when I looked up they were nowhere to be seen, and in a split second, I was five years old at the zoo again. As I scanned the crowd and couldn't find them, I felt the panic rising in my chest, and actually had to stop, take a deep breath, and remind myself: "I am 30 years old, I know my way around Manhattan, and I have a map, money, and a metro card in my pocket."

Then I remembered we both have cell phones! I kept scanning as I called him, then saw them looking for me across the street. I walked towards them and waved, they finally saw me, and when I got to them, my dad said "What, are we back at the zoo?!"

Funny how both of us went immediately to that moment. Funny how moments like that sear their memory in your brain and still have the power to induce irrational panic 25 years later. All in all, it was a pretty brief and fairly harmless experience of being lost, both times. But since Monday, I can't help thinking about the kind of hell that people who've experienced _serious_ traumatic stress must go through every day - all the little things that could trigger their own dark memories and set off a wave of uncontrollable fear and panic.

How do you heal from something like that? What, if anything, can the people of God do to help with that healing?

Peace,
C.