And not many days after the younger son gathered all together, and took his journey into a far country,
Luke 15:13
Screaming I break loose from his hands.Fighting, I get away, jumping from his lap. I run as hard as I can paying no attention to where I'm going.
To a four year old, my only thoughts are how I feel in the moment. Tears run down my face mixing in with the rain outside. I stop when I can't see
my house anymore. The spring raindrops make it hard to tell how far I've ran. All I know is I escaped. I wanted that toy and that's all that mattered.
I'm somewhere in a pasture, but I can't tell which way is back home. I'm lost. No moon or stars in the sky to give me light.
The storm worsens as the wind starts to pick up. I can barely stand on my feet. Lightning flashes some illumination so I can see briefly. All I can make out is
dark shapes off in the distance. My heart feels as though it pounds harder with each rumbling of the thunder.Barreling head long, I take flight as fast as I can go.
My feet go sliding on the wet ground. I find myself sliding into a gigantic mud hole. The shapes of the people looking for me are moving further away. I crawl out
of the mud yelling the whole time.
"Here I am, here I am,"my voice shrills.
No way they can hear me over the sound of the storm. I have to reach them.
Adrenaline kicks in and I make my way to the shadowy people. Only their not people, just cattle huddling together under an old tree for shelter.
"What do I do now? They will never find me. Why had I wanted that stupid toy so bad? Why did I act like that when Daddy told me know? Now I will never
see them my family again," my small mind wondered.
So I plopped down on the wet ground a lost boy with no family. Water from the rain and tears from my troubled heart filled my eyes to the point I could no longer make out anything.
And as I sat on my soggy pants, so sure my little world had come to an end, I heard a voice.
"You ready to go home,son?"
I turned to see the one I struggled so hard to get away from. He held out the hands that I had pushed away. Unsure for awhile if I would ever see those hands
again. No longer was I rebellious boy throwing a temper tantrum. I was a wet and sorrowful sight of a little boy, who just wanted to go home to his family. His hands
reached down to pick up his trembling, frightened son.
Now I stand out in the spring rains again. This time I am a man. I let the drops of water streak down my face. Feeling the cool moisture on my skin. And I recall how it felt back
then. Despite it all, I still fight the Hands that try to hold me. Running wildly into the darkness and confusion of my own heart. Chasing shadows and phantoms while the
thunder rolls on in the chambers of my soul. My soul yearns for the silence from the storms of this life. My soul longs for the feeling I felt back then. When my father's
hands came to carry me home.
Dear Father,
I am the rebellious younger son in the far country. I lose sight as I did in that open field of what's important. My self-deception has blinded me to the true reality,Yours.
Unlike him, sometimes I can't find my way back, and You always come looking for me. Help me to help myself. Make in me a new heart that doesn't want to fight the hands that want to hold me
and take me home.
Amen.
by
Lance Gargus
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