LOST IN PARIS!

I want to tell you about Bob. Bob isn't worth much in the eyes of a discerning public. He's never held a job, never wrote a poem, isn't much of a conversationalist and he can't bake a casserole for a church pot-luck. He doesn't come from money, he has a pot-belly and he has bad complexion and doesn't put much effort into personal hygiene.

Nonetheless, Bob became quite precious to our family, especially my son Evan. He took Bob along with us on numerous vacations. I've got pictures of Bob at the Statue of Liberty, the top of Mt. Kilimanjaro, and the Eiffel Tower. We even took Bob to a presentation of the radio show, "Prairie Home Companion" and had his picture taken with Garrison Keillor.

The reason I love talking about Bob is because the relationship Evan had with Bob is such an example of grace. Evan loved Bob, but Bob never expressed any favor back. The relationship was lopsided. Some would say dysfunctional. Why give love when nothing is ever reciprocated?

Did I mention that Bob is a rubber chicken? We purchased him at Walmart for a buck and change. In the pictures, you can see Bob at the Eiffel Tower and Bob touring the Louvre looking at Michelangelo's famous statue.

Our relationship with Bob came to a tragic end in Paris. Our family had stopped to see a friend on our way back from Kenya. We'd taken Bob to the Eiffel Tower and were on our way to Notre Dame, one of the world's most amazing cathedrals. From the Tower, we took the subway and then were on a bus across Paris when Evan looked at me and said, "I left Bob at the subway station."

Now Evan was about fourteen years old at the time, a critical juncture between boyhood and manhood and I knew he didn't want to cry, but I could tell his heart was breaking. He brushed away a tear and stayed quiet.

"It's too late," I said. "We've taken the subway and now a bus. We can't go back."

My mind wandered back over Bob's crazy life and a knot formed in my throat.

We toured Notre Dame, looking at unparalleled architecture, tall columns, arches of stone, paintings and sculptures by renaissance masters and stained glass windows that sprayed a rainbow of color across an expansive seating area. The west front contains 28 statues representing the monarchs of Judea and Israel. Three portals depict, from left to right, the Last Judgment, the Madonna and child; St. Anne, the Virgin's mother; and Mary's youth until the birth of Jesus.

But did my heart soar at such magnificence?

The atmosphere was surreal, but my soul was crusty, unresponsive.

All because of a rubber chicken named Bob.

Is it conceiveable for you to understand such a competition for my thoughts? The Last Judgment...or a rubber chicken; The Madonna and child or....A RUBBER CHICKEN?

After the tour, our family remained sober. There was little excitement to continue seeing one of the world's great cities.

At that point, Evan and I made a decision to separate from the rest of the family. We would attempt a rescue mission to find Bob.

We started back across Paris, walking the crowded sidewalks. And as we walked, we began to hum the theme for "Mission Impossible." You know--dum dum da de dum dum da de dum dum....It was the Kraus version of no chicken left behind.

We took another bus, finally arriving back at the entrance to the subway. At that point we were facing the turnstiles that require the purchase of a ticket. But I didn't want to pay if I was only going to search the platform and not ride the train. So, with all the appearance of someone trying to steal a ride, Evan and I jumped the turnstiles and jogged towards the platform. Perhaps I should have been thinking about how I would explain it to the authorities if they observed my antics, but I wasn't thinking about that...our focus was on Bob and our plan of rescue.

We arrived at the platform and searched the area. We looked on the concrete bench where Evan was sure he'd placed him. No Bob!

Our hearts sank again.

But we widened our search. There, off to the side in the gutter, Bob had been discarded.

Evan scooped him up. Other than being a little dirtier than usual, he was no worse for the adventure.

Why tell the story of Bob?

Because in some ways, we're all a bit like that rubber chicken. God has chosen us, independent of our worth, and lavished us with his love.

Did Bob diserve an expensive European vacation?

Of course not. He's a rubber chicken.

Do I diserve the lavish attention and love of my Heavenly Father?

Again, no way.

But that's what is so special about grace: God's favor given freely to the undeserved.

The next time you see a rubber chicken...remember that you are loved!

~Harry Lee