Once upon a time, when the world was a younger and wilder place, it was possible to get lost. I donβt mean lost in the Walmart parking lot or disoriented for a few minutes at the county fair. I mean really, truly lost. As in, ππππππ-πππ-π¦ππ’π-ππππ lost.
This has happened to me twice. Once in the cold northern woods of Vermont, where a friend and I got careless and lost the trail at dusk. And once in the Amazon, alone, with the sure knowledge that there were jaguars and anacondas in the jungle.
To understand this kind of lostness, you must envision a world without GPS and cell phones, with hundreds of square miles of wild jungle. (And no one waiting off camera with a jug full of lemonade and a pocket full of Slim Jims.)
My first thought, when I was lost in the Amazon, was how stupid Iβd been. Actually, Iβd been lost for quite a while before I realized it, distracted by the beauty of the jungle, the monkeys overhead, and my wandering thoughts. It was late in the day and I had no bearings whatsoever. The fear of death swept over me, and with it a powerful rush of adrenaline. Then, despite the tropical heat, a cold sweat.
Interestingly, a Brazilian friend of mine, Joaquim Bezerra, knew that I was lost long before I did. While I was still admiring the butterflies and communing with the monkeys, he had already alerted the crew and set out to find me.
There is a beautiful spiritual metaphor to this story that many of you will understand. For the longest time I didnβt know I was lost, so how could I be found? Yet Joaquim (my βsaviorβ) knew that I was in mortal danger and came looking for me.
At sunset, when he found me and guided me safely home, I knew β in a very real sense β the joy of my salvation.
