What Has Been Lost Has Not Been Forgotten

Sometimes life has a way of tucking things away where we can’t see them. We might think they’re gone for good — buried under time, change, or even our own forgetfulness. But every now and then, something comes creeping back into the light, reminding us that what’s been lost has not been forgotten.

The Pumpkin in the Grass

This past summer, while mowing the backyard, I noticed a vine snaking its way across the lawn. It was wild, untamed, and spreading fast. I figured maybe my father-in-law had dropped a few squash or cucumber seeds from his nearby garden. But the whole summer passed without a single vegetable showing itself.

I’ll be honest — I started cutting it back, thinking it was just taking over. Bit by bit, I chipped away at it with the mower.Then one day, after some of the leaves had browned and curled, I spotted something bright peeking through the grass — a small, perfectly orange pumpkin. And in a rush, I remembered. Last autumn, we tossed our carved pumpkins back there, not thinking much about it.

I had forgotten that moment, forgotten the seeds, forgotten the possibility. But the ground had remembered. The vine had remembered. And without my help — maybe even despite my interference — something had grown. What had been lost had not been forgotten.

The Lost Boys of Never Land

When I was younger, one of my favorite stories was Peter Pan. I loved the idea of the Lost Boys — children who had slipped away to Never Land, where there was always a game to play, an adventure to chase, and never a need to grow up.

The thing about the Lost Boys is that, while they had happy thoughts to keep them in the air, those thoughts came from home. A bedtime story, the smell of supper on the stove, the sound of a mother’s voice calling their name.

They were “lost,” but those memories were like a thread still tying them to where they came from. They might’ve forgotten their real names or what day it was, but I bet their families never stopped missing them. Even in a land of pirates and mermaids, the memory of home never truly faded. What had been lost had not been forgotten.

A Father Watching the Road

There’s a story Jesus told that I can’t help but think about — the one about a young man who asked his father for his share of the inheritance before the old man had even passed. He took the money, went to town, and spent it all like it was water running through his hands.

When the good times dried up, he ended up in the worst place a Jewish boy could land — living among pigs, hungry enough to think about sharing their slop. And that’s when he remembered home. Not with pride, not even with much hope — just with the thought that maybe his father would let him work on the family farm like one of the hired hands.

What he didn’t know was that his father had been watching the road. Every day. Hoping. Waiting. And when he saw his boy in the distance, the old man didn’t just wave. He ran.

He ran to him like no time had passed at all, like the years of absence and the smell of pigpen didn’t matter. Because to that father, what had been lost had not been forgotten.

Coming Back Home

This past year, my family and I moved back to Mississippi after living three years in the UK. The return was harder than we expected. We felt grief for what we left behind, the friendships, the rhythms of life we’d come to love. And small-town Mississippi, as much as we had been called here, felt unfamiliar again.

There were days we wondered why God had brought us back at all. Then, not too long ago, my wife started a studio right in the middle of town — a place for fitness, gymnastics, and dance. I’ve watched her come alive in that space, like she did in England. Only now, it’s more than she’d ever dreamed — three passions rolled into one place, right here in our hometown.

We didn’t even know we’d lost that spark, but when it came back, it was clear: God hadn’t forgotten it. What had been lost had not been forgotten.

A Thread Through It All

From a pumpkin hiding in the grass, to boys chasing adventures in Never Land, to a father scanning the horizon, to a dream rekindled in a small-town studio — the thread is the same. Time may pass. Circumstances may change. We may forget. But some things are never truly gone. They’re just waiting for the right season to come back into view.

And when they do, we remember: what has been lost has not been forgotten.