Today I have been reading Henri J.M Nouwen’s book, The Return of the Prodigal Son, a Meditation of fathers, brothers, and sons. On page 42 it says, “What happened to the son in the distant country? Aside from all the material and physical consequences, what were the inner consequences of the son’s leaving home? The sequence of events is quite predictable. The farther I run away from the place where God dwells, the less I am able to hear the voice that calls me the Beloved, and the less I hear that voice, the more entangled I become in the manipulations and power games of the world.”
Here I am, Shephek… standing in an allegorical desert. I feel stripped of the many bright trappings I once wore rather carelessly. I am separated from what was once ordinary. There is a path that I can choose to follow with faithful, yet fainting steps or to sink beside in despair.
I can’t wake up and pretend nothing ever happened. It did.
As I wait for “my news of home”, I am not helpless. I can run towards my Heavenly Farther. As a prodigal, I found myself having lost the sense of being truly beloved. Instead I sought being liked. Now in my loneliness, I can hear with my soul, the voice of God whispering, “Beloved. Come to me. I satisfy.” The words of the Bible speak and I remember the promises, like gently falling rain.
I am so very thirsty.
I am so very sad.
How long will I remember the scars of these days? Forever, I hope.
I am not forsaken. Not for a moment.