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| The Day Lucky Went Missing |
When Lucky went missing, Hank didn’t stop searching. And when he found him, he finally understood why you go after the one… no matter how far it wanders. Let the story speak to your heart—scroll down to begin.
I turned nine the summer we packed up for Nashville.
The third move in four years.
I’d memorized the routine: cardboard boxes stacked like buildings, the smell of packing tape, goodbyes that never got easier.
“We’re pros at this now,” Mom would say with that smile that never quite reached her eyes.
But each time we left, I felt hollowed out—like I was leaving pieces of myself scattered across state lines, too many to ever collect again.
That’s why, when Dad brought home Lucky, I held on tight.
…
Lucky came home a week later.
“Something that’s yours wherever we go,” Dad said, setting the cage down in my new bedroom. Mom nodded from the doorway but added, “You’re responsible for him, remember that.”
The name just fit—like finding something valuable you weren’t looking for.
Each morning before the school bus came, I’d carry him to our fenced backyard and watch him explore.
“Rabbits need sunshine,” Mom would call from the kitchen window, but I didn’t need the reminder.
I’d stretch out on the patchy grass and watch him hop in wide circles, always keeping me at the center, like I was his compass point.
…
I’d been wrong about Travis Elementary.
By the third week, Megan and Tanner were saving me a seat at lunch. Mrs. Wilson, our neighbor, brought over a peach cobbler still warm from the oven.Even Pastor Kincaid stopped by one evening, inviting my parents to Sunday service.
That first Sunday, I tugged at my stiff collar while we slid into a pew near the front. I spotted Tanner three rows back, who gave me a small wave.
First Baptist wasn’t some giant, echoing building where you could disappear.
Here, the wooden pews creaked when you shifted your weight, and Mrs. Wilson touched my shoulder as she passed by, whispering, “So glad you came.”
Pastor Kincaid didn’t hide behind his pulpit that morning. He stood right up front, hands in his pockets, talking to us like neighbors across a fence. He told us about this shepherd who had a whole flock—a hundred sheep—but left them all behind when just one wandered away. I sat there picking at a loose thread on my sleeve, thinking how that made no sense at all. Ninety-nine versus one? Any kid could do that math.
Pastor Kincaid’s voice dropped to almost a whisper. “He leaves the ninety-nine to find the one, not because he doesn’t have enough sheep already, but because each one belongs to him.”
The sanctuary fell so silent I could hear the ceiling fan clicking overhead.
I traced the wood grain on the pew with my finger, turning his words over in my mind. What would make someone search so hard for something when they already had plenty? When staying put would be so much easier?
Before we left, Pastor Kincaid announced the summer Bible School starting that week. Mom and Dad exchanged that look they get when they’re both thinking the same thing.
“Wasn’t that just wonderful?” Mom kept saying on the drive home. Dad nodded along as she talked about the friendly congregation and Pastor Kincaid’s sermon. They were already planning which days they could volunteer.
All I could think about were better ways to spend my summer vacation—swimming at the community pool, catching fireflies at dusk, or building forts in the woods behind our house. Bible school wasn’t even on the list
Yet when Monday morning came, I found myself hurrying through breakfast. Not for the Bible stories or crafts—but because Megan saved me a seat and Tanner promised to show me his cards. For the first time since moving to Nashville, people were actually waiting for me to show up somewhere.
“I don’t want to be late,” I remember saying as I headed out the door.
Lucky hopped near the fence as I glanced over my shoulder, his nose twitching in that familiar rhythm that usually made me smile.
“See you later, buddy,” I said, swinging the gate behind me.
I didn’t think about it.
I didn’t check it.
I just ran.
…
When I got home that afternoon, the silence hit me first. Usually Lucky would be hopping around, making that soft scratching sound against the grass. I let my backpack slide to the ground.
“Lucky?” My voice sounded too loud in the empty yard.
I waited, listening for the familiar rustle of fur against the fence, the quiet thump of his paws.
Just stillness.
…
The gate hung ajar, just a sliver of space between the latch and the post. Enough for a small body to squeeze through. My insides twisted into a cold knot.
“No… no, no…”
I pushed it closed like that would fix it, like I could undo the morning by doing it right now.
But the yard was still empty.
And Lucky was still gone.
…
I didn’t stop to think.
I just ran.
Down the sidewalk. Around the corner. Past houses I barely recognized. Calling his name again and again.
“Lucky!”
My voice started strong… then faded.
Was he huddled somewhere, trembling?
What if he didn’t know how to get back?
What if this was my fault?
…
“Hey—Hank! What’s wrong?”
I spun around to find three of the kids from Bible School standing there—Tanner in front, Megan and a boy whose name I couldn’t remember flanking him.
“My bunny… Lucky… he’s gone.”
The words felt heavy in my mouth.
For a moment, no one said anything.
Tanner glanced at the others, then nodded once. “We’re going to find him. All of us.”
…
We spread out.
Not in any organized way—just moving in different directions, calling his name, checking under porches, behind bushes, along fences and sidewalks.
““Lucky!” Tanner’s voice carried from two houses down.
“Here, bunny-bunny!” Megan called from behind Mrs. Wilson’s garden.
Every small sound made my heart jump.
Every silence made it sink.
…
My mind kept replaying the same images of Lucky.
His little body hopping along the fence line, matching my steps. That twitch of his nose whenever I said his name.
“Please don’t let him be gone too,” I whispered to no one.
I’d already packed up and walked away from too many things I loved.
…
My feet stopped at Mrs. Grayson’s hedge without me telling them to. Something pulled me there.
“Lucky?” The name barely left my lips.
A shadow shifted beneath the leaves.
My heart froze.
I crouched down, parting branches with careful fingers, and there he was—a trembling ball of white pressed against the wooden fence.
“Found you,” I whispered, my voice cracking.
When I reached in, he didn’t bolt or hide deeper. He just huddled there, nose twitching rapidly, dark eyes fixed on me like I was the one who’d been lost all along.
…
I pulled him close, holding him tighter than I ever had before.
“You’re safe now,” I whispered, my words catching in my throat.
My voice shook, but I didn’t care.
The others came running when they heard me call out—smiles, relief, voices all around me.
But I barely noticed.
I was just holding him.
…
Later, I sat quietly in the yard, Lucky resting in my lap.
The gate was closed this time.
Secure.
I kept thinking about how far I had gone to find him… how I didn’t stop, even when I was tired… even when I thought it might be too late.
And how I didn’t have to search alone.
…
We had moved so many times.
And I had learned to let go of a lot of things.
But that day, I understood something different.
Some things aren’t meant to be left behind.
Some things… you go back for.
You search for.
You hold onto.
…
Then Pastor Kincaid’s words from Sunday echoed in my head.
The shepherd didn’t count his ninety-nine and decide it was enough.
He went searching for the one that was missing.
…
I looked down at Lucky, still tucked safely in my arms.
Maybe that’s why I couldn’t stop looking.
Not because I had to…
but because he mattered.
…
I looked down at Lucky, still tucked safely in my arms.
Maybe that’s why I couldn’t stop looking.
Not because I had to… but because he mattered.
Pastor Kincaid’s words made more sense now.
The shepherd didn’t count what was left— he went after what was lost.
Bible school still wasn’t my first choice for summer…but as I watched the sun settle over the fence, I wondered what else I might have to learn.
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