For the first time, I am a prodigal. I have thought all along, since my conversion at age 30, that I was a prodigal. I felt like the younger brother; I had been living large, self-reliant, and before finally coming to my senses and returning home to my Father.
But, nooooooo. I was never a prodigal *before*, since I had never been a child of God, prior to that point. You can't leave a home, a family, a Father that you've never belonged to. You can't return, if you've never left.
But oh, how I left this past year. I left my Father's home, rolled around in my misery and confusion and ate a lot of slop, intended for hogs. I am now in the phase of coming to my senses and rehearsing my apology. Feeling really insecure and not at all worthy of being forgiven, loved, showered with acceptance.
I do not think that I have yet experienced the moment when "God Ran", as I have not yet taken my eyes totally off myself. I will have to look up, to catch my first glimpses of my Omnipotnet, All Powerful, Omnipresent, Holy Papa running to me. I will have to look up from my dusty sandals, quit rehearsing my excuses and defenses and process the sight of my God, running to me.
Running. To. Me.
We read of the older son's response to his Father's exhuberant welcome for his younger son...bitterness. This is the topic of many sermons, from many pastors' pulpits.
Are there any writings that project what the response of the younger son is to the Father's welcome? Is he sheepish? Relieved? Prideful? Defensive? Rejecting?
I have been all of these and more, I am afraid. I will find it difficult to simply accept the love, forgiveness and compassion from PapaGod. I hope He can forgive, even that.