The Day I Learned I'm All Three

I found these words in my sermon note journal, dated 4/10/17. I remember writing it, but had completely forgotten where exactly it had been. So, almost a year later. I present you with my thoughts from last Easter.

Even as I was listening to the sermon, my heart was thinking about Holy Week and the quote I would later post to match the photo I found on Instagram. (I'm a millennial, deal with it!) I found a beautiful depiction of the prodigal son's return, paired it with a lyric from Natalie Grant's song "Alive", and shared it with my followers before resuming back to the aforementioned sermon.

Only You can turn my darkness into dawn. I'm running right into Your arms.

Fast forward to that afternoon.

We had Easter dinner on Palm Sunday for a few reasons: it's easier than trying to rush to in-laws all in one day, the stores weren't crazy, and Frankie will be with his dad on Easter. Let's be honest, it was that last one that really mattered.

Hyped up on candy and presents, Frankie was having trouble focusing on the concept of listening. I had left the room for something, and when I returned, my sister was saying, "Go tell Gurgah what you did." I happened to glance around the room and finally settled on a puzzle across the room whose pieces had been rearranged 

"Did you do that?" I asked. Frankie shook his head. After a nudge to the back of his head by his mom, I asked again, "Did you do that, Frankie?" His lip was quivering and his eyes grew very sad. "Come here, dude. It's okay. I'm not mad at you."

By the time he reached my arms, he was sobbing. "Listen, bud, it's okay. Wanna know something? The puzzle was already broken. I can fix it again. Okay?" Now I'm crying, and have to excuse myself upstairs.

He broke my heart because he was afraid to tell me. I don't know if they were teasing him about me being mad, but he was truly terrified and sorry. I had to assure him a dozen times that I wasn't angry and I could fix it.

Later that night looking back on the emotional week I had, the image of Frankie's broken faced kept coming in view. Then I remembered the photo I had posted and couldn't help but compare scenes.

*Prodigal son: worn, fragile, lonely, uncertain, scared, convinced he's unforgiveable

*Frankie: unfocused, uncertain, scared, (sometimes) reckless, certain his minor infraction was unforgivable

Usually, you hear people say, "Part of me is the prodigal, part of me is the other brother..."

This past weekend , I caught a glimpse of what it's like to be the father. The crime in question was the rearrangement of a 500-piece puzzle (about 100 pieces had actually been put together) that cost me one dollar. Clearly this was not my greatest achievement , nor was it my most prized possession. I probably wouldn't have even noticed the crime otherwise. And yet my heart broke when someone I love so deeply walked a slow, shaky, scared walk into my arms, thinking I would hate him for it.

Again, I don't know if the house full of people teased him about me being mad at him, but we have to know the prodigal son heard it. I'm sure the path home was full of discouragement and belittling. But onward he walked.

While most days I'm one of the sons, this small taste of the father has changed my perspective. I only hope I remember this illustration the next time I rearrange the pieces and think I've ruined everything.