I lose things all the time. Keys, wallet, you name it. And if you're anything like me, the moment you ask your spouse to find what you lost, they locate it almost immediately. My wife, Amy, has this uncanny ability to find anything of mine that goes missing. But losing your keys is one thing. Losing a person is something else entirely.

I remember when Amy and I took our kids to SeaWorld. Mia was about six, Jude was around three, and they were playing in this water playground area, having the best time. Then, out of nowhere, we turned around, and Jude was gone. Completely gone. I'm not talking about a few seconds of panic where you spot them two steps away. I'm talking about full-blown, screaming-at-security, filling-out-a-missing-persons-report gone.

I had zero composure. Zero calmness. I told Amy to stay with Mia while I searched. Eventually, I looked out past this roped-off manmade lake, and there he was, way out there in the shallow water, just casually walking around like nothing was wrong. He had hopped the entire fence and was just exploring. The relief I felt in that moment was overwhelming. And it hit me: the difference in value between losing your driver's license and losing your child is beyond comparison. One can be replaced. The other cannot.

That feeling is exactly what Jesus tapped into when He told three back-to-back stories in Luke 15 about lost things.

What Is a Lost Cause?

Before we go further, let me define the terms. Something that is lost is misplaced. A person who is lost has wandered away or been taken away. But a lost cause is something different entirely. A lost cause is something deemed irredeemable. Hopelessly unattainable. Unfixable.

And I think too many of us project that label onto people. We look at someone's choices, their lifestyle, their track record, and we mentally stamp them: lost cause.

I'm here to tell you today that with Jesus, there are no lost causes.

In Luke 15, the Pharisees and teachers of the law were muttering about Jesus because He was spending time with sinners. They believed He was wasting His time on the kinds of people who couldn't be fixed, the kinds of people who had no hope. And Jesus responded with not one, not two, but three parables to drive the point home.

The Shepherd Who Leaves the 99

Jesus starts with a simple question: "Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Doesn't he leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it?" (Luke 15:4).

That word for "open country" likely refers to a pasture, a place safe enough for the shepherd to leave the flock while he searches. He doesn't abandon the 99. He puts them in a position where they're grazing, feeding, and safe. And then he goes after the one.

Can you imagine the day I lost Jude at SeaWorld, if Amy had said, "Babe, Jude's gone," and I said, "Well, we still have Mia"? No parent would ever say that. Why? Because the value of that one child is too great to write off. And Jesus is making this exact point to the religious people who had already decided which people were worth saving and which were not.

When the shepherd finds that lost sheep, he doesn't scold it. He joyfully puts it on his shoulders and carries it home. And then he says something that should shake every one of us: "There will be more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who do not need to repent" (Luke 15:7).

The Coin That Completed the Set

Then Jesus tells a second story. A woman has ten silver coins and loses one. She lights a lamp, sweeps her entire house, and searches with absolute tenacity until she finds it. In that culture, women often wore ten coins called drachmas in a garland fashion around their necks, and you needed all ten. Nine wouldn't work. There was an individual value to each coin, but also a collective value. The set wasn't complete without every single one.

God sees each of us that way. You are not disposable. You are not expendable. You are the missing piece that makes the whole thing complete.

The Real Story of the Prodigal Son

Then Jesus goes straight into His third story without even pausing, and this is where it gets deeply personal. A wealthy father has two sons. The younger one comes to him and says, "Dad, I want my inheritance now."

Let me put some practical numbers on this. If the father had $100,000, the older son would be entitled to about $66,000 (the double portion), and the younger son would get roughly $33,000. The father gives it to him, and the younger son takes off to a distant country where he blows every penny on wild living and prostitutes. Eventually, a famine hits, and he ends up feeding pigs, so broke that the pigs' food starts looking appetizing.

Then the Bible says he "comes to his senses." He remembers that even his father's servants have it better than he does right now. So he rehearses his speech: "I've sinned against heaven and against you. I'm no longer worthy to be called your son. Just let me work for you."

But here's the part that wrecks me every time. The Bible says, "While he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him" (Luke 15:20).

In that culture, the patriarch of a household would never run. It was considered undignified. Humiliating. But this father didn't care about his image. He saw his lost son and sprinted toward him. That's the heart of God toward you. He doesn't wait until you've cleaned yourself up and walked through the front door. He sees you coming from a long way off, and He runs.

Two Prodigals, Not One

Now here's where the story takes a turn most people don't expect. The father completely restores the younger son. He gives him the best robe, a ring, sandals, and throws a feast. Those items represent a full restoration of his inheritance. If you do the math, the younger son now has a claim on a portion of what's left, which means the older brother's share just got smaller.

So when the older brother shows up and hears the music, he's furious. He refuses to go inside. And listen to what he says to his father: "All these years I've been slaving for you." Not serving. Slaving. He saw his relationship with his father as a transaction, not as love.

He couldn't even call his brother "my brother." He called him "this son of yours."

And here's what I think Jesus is really saying: there are two prodigals in this story. The younger son was a prodigal through rebellion. The older son was a prodigal through religion. The younger son wasted his money but eventually found the Father's love. The older son never wasted a dime but completely missed the Father's love. So who was the greater prodigal?

Grace Received Should Become Grace Given

The Apostle Paul understood this better than anyone. In 1 Timothy 1:15, he wrote, "Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am the worst." Paul wasn't being dramatic. He was recognizing that the moment you truly understand grace, you can never look down on someone else again.

My dad was addicted to drugs. He spent time in jail, facing 25 years. He was a preacher's son who had turned against God and was doing everything he could to outrun the call on his life. But you cannot run far enough to outdistance yourself from the love of God. He will not give up on you. God does not see lost causes. He only sees lost people.

Paul wrote in Ephesians 2 that we were dead in our transgressions and sins. All of us. Every single one. "But because of His great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions. It is by grace you have been saved" (Ephesians 2:4-5). And that grace, that unearned, undeserved, overwhelming grace, was never something we could manufacture on our own.

Who Will You Be in This Story?

I think there are two kinds of lost people. There are those who are lost and know it. Maybe that's you. You know you've been running from God, and you're tired. And then there are those who are lost and don't know it. You've been in church for years. You've got a long list of religious accomplishments. You've never missed a Sunday. You've tithed faithfully. But somewhere along the way, your relationship with God became about performance instead of love.

Jesus left the third story without a conclusion on purpose. He was looking at the Pharisees and saying: You're the older brother. How will you finish this story?

A.W. Tozer wrote, "Because God is self-existent, His love had no beginning. Because He is eternal, His love can have no end. Because He is infinite, it has no limit." That kind of love is bigger than your worst failure. It's deeper than your longest season of running. It's wider than every wall you've built between yourself and God.

Grace shown to us should become grace shown through us. You don't need a theological degree to start loving people. You don't need permission to stop giving up on someone. Start sharing your story. Start inviting people into the hope that found you at your lowest. Because with Jesus, there are no lost causes. There never have been.