Rembrandts drawing, The Return of the Prodigal Son. When forgiveness comes unexpectedly into view, theres always somebody else watching, maybe some other part of ourselves, unable to credit the reality of the situation. Who is that boy leaning on the stoop, with his skeptical sidelong stare? Theres always a critic. Always a dissenting spirit. Forgive me. Im really sorry. Yeah, right. To the handful of former friends who still wont speak to me after long years, for whatever reason--and to my stubborn self, on account of the handful of former friends I still wont speak to, for whatever reason--I say, Beware this boy. He is ignorant and wanting. Forgiveness is real. It is prodigal. It comes home at last. Oh, it comes home. Before it is too late.
Posted on: Tue, 25 Mar 2014 13:08:55 +0000
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