OCT, NOV, DEC 2024 VOLUME 17 Issue 4
It was a beautiful morning.
I awoke to an exquisite sun rising above the mountains that produced hues of orange and yellow in the clouds that were softly touching the mountain’s peaks. The air was cool and dry. A slight breeze made the morning perfect for the sweater my mom had recently finished for me. It was a beautiful morning, but it wasn’t a good morning.
You see, today was the day my baby brother, Roman, was leaving home. He wasn’t going on a trip or going to the market for supplies for our farm. No, he had decided he wanted to plot his own path in this world, and Mom and Dad’s dream for Roman and I to take over the farm was not part of his path, nor his plan. My brother was a strong-headed individual, to say the least. At the worst, he was rebellious and never listened. Dad always said he was stubborn and hard-headed. But, that was like the pot calling the kettle black. He was just like Dad.
Dad said that he would give us our portion of the farm if we ever wanted to start our own farm. I guess Dad figured that was his way of expanding the farm. Two is better than one, right? Well, my baby brother wasn’t interested in farming or in this tiny little town, with all the rednecks and backwoods people, that we had called home our entire life. He was more interested in the city lights, all the excitement and fun that was to be had there. So, with great reluctance, Dad gave Roman his portion, and today was the day he was starting out on his adventure.
I was sad. I was disappointed. I was hurt. I was angry. The more I thought about it, I began to grow bitter. Why? I don’t really know. Maybe it was because my brother had enough guts to go his own way, and I was the “good son” stuck at the farm and stuck in this dinky little town. As I watched my brother throw his duffle bag of everything he owned into the bed of his truck and get behind the wheel to drive away, my heart sank. I didn’t know if I would ever see him again. I wasn’t jealous or envious. I just couldn’t see the allure of the city and the bright lights like he did. I was afraid though—afraid that his life would be all that he wanted it to be, and mine would be this dull, dry, boring life: raising cattle, planting fields of corn, waking up every morning at 5:00 to milk the cows… That’s the life for me. (Don’t know if you could pick up on my sarcasm.) After lunch, I settled into the realization that my brother was gone, and I was here to stay. I guess that was my destiny.
Yeah, I was the “good” son. I always did what my parents wanted. I worked hard, was honest, and had integrity. If I told you I would do something, well, come hell or high water, I was “gone get it done.” Don’t really know what that means. I just heard my dad and grandpa say it all the time.
After lunch, I settled into the realization that my brother was gone, and I was here to stay. I guess that was my destiny.
It was dusk, the sun was slowly going to sleep, and I was headed to the house after getting a cow unstuck from a mud pit that should have been filled in years ago. I just never had the time to do it since my brother left. I was about 100 yards away from the house when I heard the distinct sound of a party going on. With all the music, whooping, and hollering like it was the 4th of July. The music was loud. I’d never heard music that loud in Dad’s house ever. What in the world could they be celebrating? As I started up the grassy hill leading up to the back of the house where this party was going on, one of the ranch hands, J.B., ran down the hill and met me with the biggest smile I’d ever seen on his face.
“Your brother has come home.”
“What did you say? My what has come home?”
“Your brother. Duh! Remember? We haven’t heard hide nor hair from him since he left five years ago until about an hour and a half ago. That brother.”
I was stunned. I was shaken. I was confused. My brother, my baby brother, has come home. I stood there taking it all in, trying to understand what was happening. I was thankful and excited that my brother was home, but then my thankfulness turned to anger as I began to ponder what the last five years had been like. My brother took his portion of the farm and left me here all alone to carry the burden of the farm, to work—no, to slave away—making sure that the farm doesn’t go under, making sure Dad doesn’t literally work himself to death. And not to mention trying to keep Mom from worrying herself into an early grave. He never wrote, never called, never sent word with anybody about where he was, how he was doing, nothing. He’s out partying it up for five years, doing only God knows what with only God knows who. Then he shows up, and Mom and Dad throw him a party.
Yeah, I was mad. I was fuming mad.
The anger and resentment gave me an energy that I had not had in years. I bolted past J.B. like he was a statue and ran up the hill where my dad was standing and waiting. I guess he was waiting for me. Why? What for? So, he could tell me my good-for-nothing-piece-of-trash-selfish-ungrateful-jerk-of-a-brother has come home? That was exactly why he was there, without the whole good-for-nothing part though. He was so excited to tell me. I really didn’t know what to say or do.
“Jon, your brother is alive.” He exclaimed.
“Well, it’s about [expletive] time.” I retorted. “He left us hanging on for five years without a single word, letter, phone call, nothing. What kind of person does that?” I blurted out.
“Jon, I thought you brother was dead. We thought we’d lost him forever. Mine and your mom’s hearts were broken when he left. But when we concluded that he was dead, our hearts were devastated. Now, to see him in person in the flesh standing before us, our hearts are bursting, overjoyed, and elated. He was dead but now he is alive.” My dad replied. “Jon, how can you be so uncaring?” He asked.
“Uncaring? I’m the one who is uncaring? I didn’t leave and dump all the responsibility of the farm and caring for you and Mom on somebody else. I didn’t take my portion of the farm and waste it on untold immoral behavior with immoral people. I’m the good son. I’m the one who did what was expected of me… what was right… what was best for the family. I wasn’t selfish. I wasn’t sleeping with every and anyone I could. I didn’t party all night long and then sleep through the day. I was good. I was honorable. I had integrity. And all that is repaid by throwing a party for the son who did it all at the cost of his family and friends. That’s worth a party? Hmmm! I never, not even once, asked for a party. I never asked anything from you or Mom. I could have but I didn’t. Wow, have I been duped.” I said more to him with another tirade that I don’t need to mention here.
As I turned to walk away, my dad grabbed me and turned me around to where I faced him man-to-man. He put his hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eye and said in a kind, tender, but strong voice. “Jon, it was all here at your disposal, and you never availed yourself of any of it. I don’t love you or your brother any differently. I don’t love you and your brother because of your behavior or love you any less because of your behavior. Yes, I want the best for you and your brother. Yes, I want you to live a life that is honoring to God and full of integrity and honor, but what you do with what is placed in your hands you will be accountable to God for. And right or wrong, you are still my son just like your brother is.”
I just stood there looking at my dad and watching the tears run down his face as he continued to talk to me. This was the first time I had ever seen my dad cry, and I was the one who made him do it. I was supposed to be the good son and all along I was the prodigal. I was the prodigal who stayed home. I was no different than my brother. I may have stayed home but my heart was far away. I began to break. My hard heart of bitterness and unforgiveness began to crack. The façade I had hid behind for so many years was finally being revealed and for some reason I welcomed it all. The weight of responsibility and ownership lifted, and I stood upright without hunching over. It was all on the inside, but for some reason I felt taller, stronger, and at peace—a peace I’d never known, an unexplainable peace. I wanted it more than I wanted my next breath. Although I was the good son who was a prodigal who never left home, I was now finally home.
This variation on the Biblical story of the prodigal son is a small representation of my walk with God. You see, I was the good son. I did all the right things for all the wrong reasons. My lips and life honored God, but my heart was far from Him. I wanted my heart to be near Him, but my selfishness and ego kept getting in the way. God had to dismantle my nice, neat, safe, organized, and predictable little world to get my attention. I didn’t go through difficulty. I didn’t go through a rough patch in my marriage. There wasn’t a financial disaster or some tragedy that happened in my life. I had a plan for my life, and I was going to live it out. I knew what to do, when to do it, and how to do it. I had the formula for a successful life calculated, and it all added up to a perfect score of 100. No, His Holy Spirit finally got through my thick-full-of-itself-arrogant-I-got-it-figured-all-out mentality to break me into a million pieces so that He could put me back together the way He always intended me to be.
Many of you reading this right now have the same thoughts and plans. But it wasn’t until God wrecked my life in a good way that I realized that a successful life didn’t have a formula, because Jesus was the formula. You see, I never walked away from God. I never did drugs or partied all the time. No, I was good… but broken. Good… but deceived. Good… but arrogant. Good… but better than everyone else. I was good until I wasn’t. It was until I humbled myself before God and came to the end of myself and my ideas of what a successful life was supposed to be that God took the reins, and I was forever changed and never the same. I was the good son who was a prodigal, who never left home, but now I am finally home.
Oh, yeah. I, uh… don’t plan on leaving home. Ever. It’s way too good.
