"Are You Lost?"
You know the drill.
Long day. Empty fridge. Milk crisis.
So you make the late-night pilgrimage to Walmart — where, somehow, half the population has also gathered for reasons unknown. You park three football fields away, avoid eye contact with the bell-ringer at the door, grab your milk (plus three completely unnecessary items), and head back out into the vast, dimly lit sea of cars.
And then it hits you:
You have no idea where you parked.
No key fob beep. No tech bailout. Just you, wandering rows like a nomad in a metal desert.
And then she appears.
A random woman, watching just long enough to clock your confusion. Slight smirk. Head tilt.
“Are you lost?”
It’s almost funny how quickly that question cuts deeper than the moment.
Because yeah — you’re looking for your car.
But also … not really.
There’s a particular kind of disorientation that hits after something meaningful ends.
Not chaos. Not crisis.
Just … absence.
You had structure.
You had people.
You had purpose that felt immediate and tangible.
And now?
Now you’re back in a parking lot of choices, routines, and unanswered questions, trying to recognize something that used to feel obvious.
“I once was lost but now am found” — that still holds.
But that kind of found doesn’t always translate into clarity about where to go next.
Faith can anchor your identity while your direction still feels completely up in the air.
And that tension?
It’s real.
So yeah, in that moment, the honest answer isn’t polished or poetic.
It’s just:
“Yeah. I am.”
Not in a hopeless way.
Not in a faithless way.
Just … in a human way.
Because sometimes being “found” in the eternal sense doesn’t mean you won’t feel lost in the present one.
Sometimes it just means you’re not wandering alone — even when everything around you feels unfamiliar.
Even when you’re scanning rows and rows, trying to recognize where you’re supposed to be.
And eventually — somehow — you do find the car.
Not because you suddenly became less lost.
But because you kept walking.
