Luke 15:11-18 (With much creative license)
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“Can I even go back home?”, he thought.
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He remembered why he left in the first place.
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So many rules. So much work. No time for play. His father’s incessant teachings.
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“I don’t want to be here anymore!” he’d said to father. “I’m tired of all of this. I just want a chance to live my own life, to do what I want to do!”
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So he left.
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But life wasn’t what he thought it would be.
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The money was gone. The relationships were empty. His addictions had drained him of every sense of self-worth. It wasn’t fun anymore. He was ashamed. He felt hollow inside.
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And his heart started to change …
He longed to work the fields again with his brother, to sit at the dinner table with his family again and listen to his father’s incessant teachings, to be surrounded by love and peace and safety, to be clean again, to have a clear conscience.
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And as he ate with the pigs, he finally cried out, “I just want to go home!”
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But how could he? How could he possibly face him again after everything he’d done? After everything he’d said?
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Then he remembered his father’s words when he left, “We’ll always be here for you.”
And he remembered the letters from his mother. “Please come home!” they read.
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So with a spark of hope he began walking, second guessing himself all the way.
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“I’m not even worthy to be his son. Will he even want to see my face?”
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I sat with a young man years ago while I served as a bishop. And after he shared with me all the reasons he’d left the gospel he finally, with emotion in his voice, asked, “Can I even come back after everything I’ve done?”
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At some point in our lives, we or someone we love, are the prodigal child. How do our Heavenly Father and our Savior feel about us when we finally “come to ourselves” and long to return home?
Can we even go home after everything we’ve done?
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Image credit – “Parable: The Prodigal Son” by Liz Lemon Swindle