Friday Devotional: Let’s Party

It was a cold and windy November afternoon in southwest Michigan. My wife and I bundled up and drove to Warren Dunes State Park, right along the shores of Lake Michigan. As soon as we stepped out of the car, we were hit by wind-blown sand blasting across the beach. The waves were wild, and the wind stung our faces.

Hoping to warm up, we climbed 250 feet to the top of the tallest sand dune. From there, we could see the skyline of Chicago on the far side of the lake. After catching our breath, we ran down the dune as fast as we could. Halfway down, my body got ahead of my feet, and I tumbled into the soft sand, rolling a few times before coming up—laughing.

For the next couple of hours, we walked the beach and explored the dunes. On the far side, we found a spot where the wind had piled the sand into a steep hill. Over and over, we ran and jumped off the edge, launching ourselves into the air and landing in the soft sand below. It felt like flying.

As the sun set and darkness crept over the dunes, we headed back to the parking lot. Ours was the only car left.

I reached into my pocket for the car keys—nothing. I checked another pocket. Still empty. Panic started to rise in my chest.

“Did I give you the keys?” I asked my wife.

“I don’t have them,” she replied.

My heart sank.

Somewhere out there, in 1,500 acres of dunes and sand, my keys had fallen out of my pocket. And with the strong winds, even if we could find them, they might already be buried. It was cold, getting dark, and we were miles from town. The odds were not in our favor.

So, we did the only thing we could—we prayed, asking God to help us.

The only place I could think to check was the dune where I had fallen earlier. We began retracing our steps, though our tracks had long since blown away. Constantly scanning the sand, I stopped at a spot that looked familiar.

“I think this is where I fell,” I said.

Then I looked down.

Right by my foot, something shiny caught the last bit of light—a tiny piece of metal, no more than a quarter inch long. I bent down and brushed away the sand.

Out came my entire keyring.

God had guided my steps right to it.

We hadn’t planned on it—but that night, there was a celebration at the Yeagley house.

In Luke 15, Jesus tells three stories in response to people criticizing Him for spending time with sinners. The stories are about a lost sheep, a lost coin, and a lost son.

Each story sounds impossible:

• A shepherd leaves his entire flock to search in the dark for one missing sheep.

• A woman lights a lamp and sweeps every inch of her house looking for a single lost coin.

• A heartbroken father waits and watches the road, hoping that one day his runaway son will come home.

In all three stories, the lost thing is found.

And every story ends the same way—with a party.

But the last story, about the lost son, has a twist. The older brother refuses to come to the party. He’s angry. He says, “Why should I celebrate this son of yours who wasted half the family money?”

And the story ends without telling us if he ever goes inside.

Luke 15 is an invitation. It invites us to celebrate the amazing grace of God—to remember that we’ve all been lost, and that Jesus came to find us.

Right now, there’s a party going on in heaven. All of heaven is celebrating what Jesus has done.

Thanks to Him, we were dead and now we’re alive.
We were lost and now we’re found.

That’s something worth celebrating!

So, stop sulking on the porch.
Come inside.
Join the party.

Discussion Questions

• Have you ever lost something really important and then found it? How did you feel?

• Why do you think Jesus told stories about lost things?

• Why do you think the older brother in the prodigal son story didn’t want to celebrate?