Luke 15:20-24
And he arose, and came to his father. But when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him. And the son said unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son. But the father said to his servants, Bring forth the best robe, and put it on him; and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet: And bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it; and let us eat, and be merry: For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found. And they began to be merry.

I feel like I write something about this parable every time I read it, but maybe I can just relate so much to the lostness of the prodigal son, his brokenness and regret, and that sliver of hope that arose in him when he decided to go back home. How many times have I felt far from God—or been far from God, wallowing in something that He didn’t want for me, wondering if He could still want me back. But Jesus tells this story to emphasize the value of the lost being found, and I think that He patterns the father in the story after His own to show us the smallest glimpse of the vast love that He has for us.

Notice that his father saw him when he was yet a great way off. That means he was looking for him. Probably every day his gaze turned to the path leading up to the house that his son had taken when he’d left to go his own way, just hoping, waiting, anticipating that his son would one day return. And when he finally sees him coming, he looks upon him not with anger or rebuke or with some punishment in mind, but he looks with compassion. He runs to him because he can’t wait to touch him again, to hug him, to tell him he is loved and wanted and welcome always in his house. It is with joy that he receives him. It is a celebration that takes place. It is overwhelming and maybe unexpected mercy that flows from his heart for his beloved child.

And I think, in reality, this story can only give us the tiniest understanding of what it must be like when our Father sees us trudging back up that road, head hanging, with our practiced excuses on our lips and regret wrapped around us, wondering what He might say or how He’ll react. But it’s always mercy that meets us. It’s always joy at our return. It’s always a “welcome home” and a lavishing of blessing upon us that, instead of making us feel unworthy, makes us know how certainly we are loved and accepted by Him, even after what we’ve done. It’s a love that goes much deeper than I can comprehend. And I’m so amazed by it every time. Don’t let your sin keep you from your Father. Don’t think that something you can do will change His love for you. Own your mess and get back home and let His grace take care of the rest.