GlocalNet

If my parents had felt good, they were coming to see me Easter. It’s been a few years since they have, so I went out and did a ton of stuff to my yard, painted, etc.—things I knew my Dad would examine upon arrival.  I spent a couple of days in the yard and loved it.  I had no projects in front of me—just working hard and thinking while I worked. My parents didn’t say which service they’d attend, so Saturday night I was the only one in a suit for two services.

I got somewhat sad knowing I wouldn’t see my son—knowing my daughter was headed off for college in the fall and we would have an empty nest. I’ve enjoyed being a husband and father—it hasn’t been this huge sacrifice—so I’m sad they’re gone—but happy they’re all doing so good. I don’t feel old enough to have college kids, but I guess I am.

The yard was finished. It was 2:30 and I heard the door unlock. I was in the kitchen putting on my running shoes. I yelled, “Jill — you home?” No response. “Jill?” No response. “Nik?” No response. I stuck my head around the corner—it was Ben. I grinned from ear to ear. Then I wept and embraced him. “What’s wrong dad?” “Son, it’s fine—we don’t have cancer—I’ve just been thinking about you and am happy for your future—that’s all.”

In our 5 Easter services, I preached on the prodigal returning home. It’s awesome—but you know—the non-prodigal returning home I believe is even better.