The prodigal son seems like a good Father’s Day story. Remember the son who decided he wasn’t a son? His daddy and his home life were holding him back. He needed that inheritance, even if it meant breaking relationship with the one who loved him most.
I’ve been pretty good about jumping into fights like a junkyard dog. My quickness to defend myself is proof of a lie I’ve believed. That lie is that my safety and my defense depend on me alone.
Hmmm. That sounds a little like the prodigal. What was it that really sent him on his shopping spree? Was it trying to keep up with an over-achieving older brother who ran faster, farther and with more finesse?
Was there strife in that home? Or had life just been pretty quiet, and the prodigal needed some fun. Without restrictions, without boundaries.
We don’t know why. We can only speculate what caused a person to discard what was of real value in his life.
It would have been easy for the father to shout, “Didn’t I teach you better than that? Haven’t you learned anything from all the love and care since you were born?”
We don’t have any record of that. We just see a dad waiting, looking at the horizon, watching for a lost son to return.
I’ve been the lost daughter. I’ve been the longing parent. Wondering when the chains will be broken. Wishing I could give more, be better, somehow make things right. Realizing the time must come when my eye turns to the Father.
My Father waits for me to get it.
He doesn’t call me stupid. He just waits, longing for the moment when I head back home to love.
So, that’s what I’m doing this Father’s Day. Lifting my eyes to what is real. Grateful that I’m learning to recognize it. Looking to the horizon, knowing I’m His own.