My Son, My Son

A Meditation on the Parable of The Prodigal Son

My Son. My Son.  The pain!

Conceived in my heart.  Sprung from my loins.

Your debauchery of your birthright does not pain.

Declaring that I am dead to you pains.

In anguish, my heart cries.

You are of my flesh.

You are of my blood.

All my love I pour into you.

On that day, over the horizon I watched you separate yourself.

All day, every day, that horizon I longingly watch in anticipation of our reunion.

I yearn to engulf you with fatherly love and mercy;

I am not dead, my love and mercy endures forever.

Come.  Return.

Learn of my love and mercy.

The home I prepared for you from the beginning awaits.

Come, let’s celebration your return with great joy.

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