Prodigal Daughter

I’ve had this blog on standby in my head for weeks because I have zero clue how to start it. It feels awkward and wrong, but half the joy in writing something that feels so wrong is the fruit that has come from even being able to share a story like this.

In the bible, there is this story of the Lost Sheep and the Lost Coin. The first is a story about a farmhand who loses one sheep out of the ninety-nine. Going after the lost sheep is rather foolish, but the farmhand does it, rejoicing when he brings his sheep home.

The second story is of a woman who loses a silver coin in her home, equal to a day’s worth of pay in bible-times. She sweeps up her home in search of the one that she has lost, celebrating when it is found.

Both these stories lead to the one about the Prodigal Son, in which the youngest goes off and squanders his father’s money, chooses the world, and leads himself into rock bottom. And all I can think about when I read this story is the amount of times I have either financially, emotionally, or physically lead myself into rock bottom territory with God.

Most recently, in December, I squandered money on alcohol, choosing to get drunk — multiple times — with a group of people I’ve learned to love and have found connection with. But I did that all through turning my back on friendships and relationships in my immediate community in my personal life, both confusing my identity for something in the world I believed was better, and tainting the image of God I know to be true at the end of the day.

One other example of this playing out in my life includes squandering money I didn’t have on lavish trips to different countries over the last two years, all of which resulted in me feeling like I tainted the image of God inside me and resulting in financial ruin.

The pickup from all this tarnish built up over the last few years has been insurmountably hard and the idea of being seen terrified me to the point where I was in December, believing much like the Prodigal Son that the world had something better to offer me.

I’m learning in this season, however, that this isn’t the case and naming things for what they are, feeling them, and bringing them to God is what truly heals for me.

When the son finally realizes what he’s done and decides he doesn’t want to be hungry anymore, he begins the long journey of returning home. His father see’s him from miles away. And we’re not talking like one mile here, we’re talking MILES away. Meaning, the son’s father was always looking for him and waiting for him to return even when he was squandering his life away.

Yet, it was the Father’s joy to see his son return, so much so that He had his servants prepare a party. The compassion he had for his son was so huge that he began to run toward him, meeting him with open arms. The son was welcomed back home, no longer lost, but found in the arms of his father.

So many times I look at this story and see my own as I live it right now.

Being home, while hard, has truly been a blessing.

My parents have extended their arms to me in order to right what has been done wrong financially, save, and pay down debt — my first of which has been paid in full.

I went off and partied way too much in December, losing sight of the community that has watched me grow through some really tough stuff over the last three years, giving grace like the Father did for His son. They still welcome me in.

Finally, in all of that, I turned my back on God and the identity I fought for over the last nine years, tainting His image and losing sight of His own in me because I was lead to believe that what was apart from Him was better.

And yet, He has welcomed me in with open arms, seeing me, knowing me, correcting me, and loving me

He waited on me like the father did his son. He held His arms open to me like the Father did his son. He went off to find me like He did his lost sheep. He spent all day sweeping up shop to find me like the lady did her lost coin. And in my return, there is weeping and rejoicing over me in heaven, not because I have remained lost and wandering, but because I am found again.

It’s so easy to turn my back and wander away from what I believe when I feel alone, like I am the only one, or like I have made a mistake and tainted His image.

It’s easier for me to hide believing that there couldn’t possibly be anything I can do to rectify the fact that I have falsely administered His image to hundreds of people I know and love both in the church and outside of it.

But you see, that’s the best, most beautiful thing about Him that I know. Nothing I do can possibly taint what He sees in me. God, at the end of the day, knows me in all my prodigal ways.

I truly believe that even a tainted image of Him can be restored. The question is whether or not I believe Him to do it in me, and whether or not I trust that He will do it. That’s the greatest mystery. And I’m so down to choose the road it takes to find the answer, no matter the cost.