Prodigal

 He was tired of doing the same things, waking up to the same sky, conversations with the same people, working in the same fields, and sleeping on the same bed. He wanted something more. He wanted something invigorating and fun. Something to fill that black hole inside of him.

 He went to his dad. He demanded the money his dad had set aside as a portion of his inheritance.

 “Give me what I deserve for working for you all these years. I want it now. I don’t want to wait. Give me my rights, the things I deserve.”

 His dad was a gentle man, tender and patient, with wisdom and foresight. Nevertheless, he took the money intended for later and gave it to his errant son. Perhaps he even blessed him.

 So he packed his clothing and took his money and went off to the streets of Paris. What fun! What adventure! Lust, greed, gluttony. He sampled; nay, he devoured it all. This was the life he wanted and now, he had it. The black hole was smothered with a surfeit of insanity. Remember, youngest son, black holes are a vacuum; even a surfeit cannot fill it.

 As with everything else, money, and money especially, doesn’t last for very long. Before many weeks passed, his pockets were tight. Addicted, stumbling down the alleys in search of food and shelter, that vacuum inside him becoming more insistent; he was starving.

 A stranger took pity on him—this broken piece of man—and gave him a job feeding his pigs. He was so hungry as he tossed the swill to the animals he wished to eat at the trough also. Insanity was the siren song.

 When he came to himself in a moment of clarity, he remembered his dad and the food he had at his table, enough for him and his sons, and all the servants, and more besides.

“What a fool I’ve been,” he said to the swine. “I’m going home. I’m more worthless than the beggar down the street, but maybe I can beg for a few crumbs.”

 The youngest son and his ever growing black hole backpacked home, over the countryside, back to the home he had sworn off. When he was almost home, he saw a blurry figure in the distance that became sharpened into his dad as the road between them shortened.

 “My son, my son,” said his dad and grabbed him in the biggest hug he’d had yet.

 “I was wrong, Dad. I got it all wrong. I’m sorry. Can I come back home?”

 His dad was tender and wise. He cried into his boy’s hair and welcomed him back. He forgave him without hesitation, without censure, without condemnation. He was glad his son was alive and home.

 He took his son into the house and started a bath and gave him beautiful clean clothes. He put the family ring on his finger and told the servants to hurry up and prepare the best dishes.

“My son is back. Today, we celebrate.”

 Forgiveness at the moment of repentance. The strongest force in the universe is Love. The vacuum of the black hole was removed. Want was replaced with satisfaction.

 The older brother was irritated with all the attention given so lovingly to his younger brother.

“Here I have served you all these years, yet you have never given me a feast with all my friends. Never have I seen a worthless creature deserve less, and still you give him everything!”

 His dad looked at him sadly.

“You’ve lost your vision. I’ve had you here by my side, and yes, faithfully by my side. Your brother made his mistakes; it is our joy to forgive him and welcome him home.”

 Accumulation is dust compared to the glory waiting for us when we go home. We stand before our Father and not one of us is worthy of that joyful glory, yet because of His immense love for his creation, we can be humbled and repent. Then are we forgiven with the power of Jesus’s blood and given the ring of family and a seat at the table.

 It is a joy to be forgiven and a joy to be able to forgive.

Linda Peachey, 2023

February