“ mat­ter how bro­ken and use­less we are, He is still pa­tiently wait­ing for us to come home. May we love to come home to Him.”

Palawan Daily News - - Opinion - THE GOOD LIFE | BY YOLLY MORES

It’s just a phrase, COM­ING HOME! But what does this pithy ex­pres­sion mean to you? Is there a grip­ping sense of ur­gency that pulls you into it? COM­ING HOME!! Does it spell magic like love? Is there some sort of mag­netic field that at­tracts you to re­turn to that space of com­fort you call HOME?

If you were an OFW who had been away for years and would of­ten dream of be­ing re­united with your fam­ily, com­ing home could mean ex­cite­ment be­yond mea­sure at the thought of your equally ex­cited loved ones wait­ing for you.

Or, you could be any­body – a boss, a busi­ness­man, a pro­fes­sional, an em­ployee, a worker – doesn’t the idea of com­ing home bring joy­ful an­tic­i­pa­tion? And, come to think of it, most of­ten than not, pupils and stu­dents (and some­times, teach­ers, too!), af­ter classes are over for the day, would rush out of their re­spec­tive rooms and with a flurry in their steps, get a ride or run their way home.

What gives? When al­most ev­ery­thing in the house re­mains the same: the same peo­ple, the same faces, the same food – ( re­heated countless times that it has be­come so soft and ten­der swal­low­ing is ef­fort­less. It just slides down to the al­i­men­tary canal with­out any provo­ca­tion.) And you are still COM­ING HOME?

But what if you were com­ing home af­ter serv­ing a prison term? What if you were com­ing home af­ter fail­ing in an in­ter­view or af­ter los­ing your job? What if you were com­ing home af­ter a doc­tor’s de­mor­al­iz­ing prog­no­sis? What if you were com­ing home af­ter spend­ing your month’s earn­ings in a drink­ing spree with your friends or af­ter wal­low­ing in sin, af­ter drown­ing your­self in a sea of vices and worldly plea­sures? What if you were com­ing home poor, poorer than a coun­try mouse and into an empty dwelling place? Would com­ing home be still your idea of fun and ex­cite­ment? Per­haps not. The thrill must have lost its en­tic­ing power. Dread and shame and con­fu­sion take over as you bite the bul­let for the in­evitable con­fronta­tion.

I am re­minded of the STORY OF THE PRODI­GAL SON which I know most of the read­ers are fa­mil­iar with in Luke 15:11-24. The younger son had asked for his part of his fa­ther’s es­tates and squan­dered it reck­lessly to the last cen­tavo un­til poverty and hunger caught up with him. That was when he re­mem­bered his fa­ther and de­cided to re­turn home. COM­ING HOME!! What could have been his feel­ing as he stum­bled his way to his fa­ther’s place? Could he muster the courage to face the man he aban­doned? And, if you were the fa­ther, what would be your re­ac­tion upon see­ing your child in such a sor­did mess?

I can hardly ap­prox­i­mate the fa­ther’s feel­ings but by God’s grace, based on Luke’s nar­ra­tive and other parts of the Scrip­tures, I have writ­ten here in home­spun lan­guage what could have tran­spired in the fa­ther’s heart and mind as he spent the days wait­ing for the re­turn of his prodi­gal son:

My son, I have been wait­ing for you. And I’ll keep on wait­ing un­til you de­cide to come home. Ev­ery­thing is now ready for your re­turn. I have pre­pared a wardrobe of finest clothes fit for kings, and when that time comes, I will throw the most lav­ish wel­come party our friends and neigh­bours will ever see.

Ev­ery­day, I fix my eyes on the road for I want to run to meet you while you are still afar off. How I long to give you my tight­est em­brace! And while I dry the tears in your eyes, I will de­clare for all the world to know and hear that I am for you and not against you.

With a fa­ther’s heart fraught with yearn­ing for a long, lost child, I want to as­sure you that I’m not count­ing your sins. I have for­got­ten your trans­gres­sions and I will re­mem­ber them no more. Know that I have the best plans for your life – all be­cause I love you with a love that won’t let go of you.

Come home, my child. Just come home. I, your fa­ther, am wait­ing.

THIS IS THE GOOD LIFE: that no mat­ter how far we have run from God, no mat­ter how much filth we have cov­ered our­selves with, no mat­ter how bro­ken and use­less we are, He is still pa­tiently wait­ing for us to come home. May we love to come home to Him.

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