The Running Father

I bowed my head as I walked towards that house. I could hardly take a gaze. And my leg—they seemed to weight double. I hear my chest scream into my senses begging to turn my back but still, I insisted because my stomach has been growling and it was days ago since I have last eaten in the pigpen.

 “Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son, make me one of your hired servants.” On my way, I get this line repeated in my mind, finding the right way to say it.

And as I try to get my head up, I saw a man. A familiar man. Coming my way, sprinting—like a child who has been waiting eagerly for his mama and his chocolate bars. I know, he was filled with joy.

My eyes widened. How could it be? It’s him. I never saw him run like that before. This was totally a disgrace since I know that in our culture, it’s considered undignified for a man to run. And he did that in front of the neighbors who are so familiar about the law of Moses. I saw their astonished eyes filled with judgement. They knew that I deserved to be stoned to death for what I have done.

But this man—he ran ahead of their reactions and went straight to me, as fast as he could. I know he is trying to carry the weight and shame upon his shoulders. I want to stop him. And my heart is breaking. I caused this person severe pain—yet did something that will cause him humiliation—and it was all for me?

He hiked up his robe revealing his legs getting nearer and nearer to me. My heart is about to burst; I don’t deserve such action. I’m a nobody.

But before he gets a little closer to me, I could no longer make a move. Strength has abandoned me. I nearly dropped myself to the ground only to find out that I’m already resting in his arms. He kissed me over and over again. Even if I was so dirty and—filthy.

When I beheld his eyes and stared into those earthly hues, I saw his soul and deep compassion. And I begin to utter

“Father , I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your Son.” But before I finished my statement, I heard him called our servants.

“Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let’s have a feast and celebrate.  For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.”

He didn’t make me one of his hired servants, in fact He gave the best robe for me to feel that I still deserve my inheritance. The ring, that always reminds me of my authority as his beloved and the sandals that servants and slaves do not wear, only a SON does.

Inspired by the story of the Prodigal Son. Retelling. Luke 15:11-32. I wrote this out of my gratitude of His grace.  We are undeserving and unworthy but He still chooses to love and accept us unconditionally.

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