Prodigal Son

Considering the fact that I haven't blogged in almost five months and the inescapable conclusion of another holiday season, I figured the little guy above was more than suitable. I have survived a horrible crash into a Writer's block that sealed my thoughts in plaster and stitched the loose ends of imagination and expression into complete captivity. To put it more simply, my mother said that I haven't blogged because I am "happy"- that I blogged the most when I was quite frankly, miserable. Maybe, there is truth to this theory because writing makes me happy, and it has served as a safe haven in times of need.  Yet, I have missed my little escape and have inevitably returned to turn over a new leaf with the start of a new year. Be patient with me, there is much to update, but we'll get there in time. For now, I have to tell you, I haven't been a Modernday Lucy. I've been a Modernday Prodigal's Son.

I was frolicking in frivolity, spinning wildly, basking in the worldly blessings that I never deserved when my inheritance ran out.

It was the first week of December. I should have been studying for my upcoming finals, but I had just received my engagement pictures. Obviously, I threw priorities to the wind and dove into the pictures trying to pick my favorites. I picked up my phone, figured I would have a conference call with my mom over the extremely important task of choosing a favorite, and was blindsided when her tone wasn't as engaged as I presumed it to be a few minutes before. Then my pot of gold came tumbling down to the words

Dad.

Hospital.

 Severe Pain.

Uncertainty.

I tried to process the words, but they didn't align in my mind. I wouldn't let them. My moment of frolicking in the sun was now replaced with howling winds and noise as my world began to spin. I pictured my dad, the man who gave me my quick-temper, my silly nature, gift of gab, and above all, appreciation for prayer. I saw his youthful brown eyes with all their sparkle as the light went out of mine. I saw him practicing dancing with me in our kitchen and heard the futile arguments he would present about why he should get to eat a second roll at lunch. Tears filled the corners of my eyes as I thought about him walking me down the aisle in six months. Winds of worry began to thrash against me as the words pain and uncertainty began to erode my foundation. My mom couldn't talk long, so I was alone in the chaos.

Immediately, I tried to call my fiancé. He didn't answer. Frenzy rising, I called a friend. Again, no answer. At the sound of my sister's voicemail, I began to lose hope. I couldn't find anyone to talk to. I was alone in the howling winds and cracking foundation. I was nineteen again, crying in a wheelchair, alone in a hospital room staring at brain monitors. I was back to a fall day holding a dear friend's hand not knowing what to say to an old man that had stolen my heart as I watched him die. I was afraid, helpless, unsure. One moment I had been carelessly dancing in my world of fortune and worldly riches- the next I was standing in rags in a desolate pasture. 

Through the wind, I began to hear a soft voice. It was calling my name, asking me where I had been, asking why I was relying on others to make sense of the chaos, not judging me for frolicking in frivolity, but trying to show me the way back home. 

I was the Prodigal Son standing ragged in a pasture, dirt on my face, tears in my clothes, scrapes on my knees from falling over my own traps, and even after depleting my worldly resources, my Father was still calling out to me, telling me to come home. He met with me in the middle of my emptiness and welcomed me. He would take my rags of worry and burdens and clothe me in comfort and assurance. He would forgive my dependence on the world and my own stubborn heart and allow me back into His chambers. He loved me despite my wandering. 

As I laid in my bed that night, I began to be calmed as God touched my heart. I received a call a few hours later that my dad was fine. It would wind up being his gall bladder. Yet, I took away a bigger message that night. God was reminding me that I can't depend on the world. In a moment where it all began to shake around me, I couldn't reach anyone because only One was trying to guide me home. He watched as I chased after loose coins, and as they eluded me, He began to walk towards me in the pasture. He began calling my name over the wind as I tried to find my way home. He reminded me that I am a Prodigal Son who misplaces my riches at times and reminded me that only He can quiet the winds, guide me home, and holds and promises my true inheritance.