Buried

Somewhere in my backyard lies buried treasure. 

Its location is 100 percent a mystery, because the Indiana Jones of this scenario was 6 years old at the time and decided a map was unnecessary.

After several days of abnormal behavior, a guilty-faced Indie trudged down the stairs well after bedtime one evening. 

The confession took a few rabbit trails, some tears, and a bit of coaxing to finally emerge from where it had been hiding in a distraught little boy’s heavy heart.

And once out in the open, it took sheer willpower and determination for Mom and Dad not to crack a smile and let a giggle escape. Yes, it was one of those types of parenting moments.

You see, unless you consider manicure tools to be of great value or significance, our buried backyard treasure was of the drug-store variety. 

It turns out that a curious MacGyver-minded kindergartener could not help but shoplift the desired nail clippers from his grandparents’ house during a visit. Later, feeling the weight of his crime, he had no choice but to bury it in our backyard. “Out of sight, out of mind” was his plan of attack.

Except, it doesn’t work that way, does it?

Our buried shame can consume our minds and weigh down our hearts. It places us in a private prison. 

I know this from experience. And my crimes were a bit greater than stolen hygiene equipment.

I’ll never forget the expression on my son’s face after releasing the secret he had been carrying. I bet this look of surrender, relief, and gratitude never gets old to God as He forgives His children and removes our excavated shame.

Talk about some invaluable treasure.

And the good news is, we already have the map.

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