Adjusting to life's changes with hope… through poetry, haiku, and commentary

Not the Prodigal


Father, I cannot speak for
your love overwhelms me.
A consenting thank you
merely forms in my throat.

For you picked me up in the
silence of my pain and sin;
you carried me on your
shoulders, found me when
I was lost.

Your unceasing love found
me! It wasn’t me; not the
prodigal.

Who is the star of my story?
Of your story? It is not about
me; it is not about you beloved
reader. And, not the prodigal.

It is about the love of the father
who gave his son; a shepherd
whose love wipes away the
tears of life and has defeated
death.

Our last breath here is our first
breath there with the Christ to
whom we gave our consent to
be loved.

So that he could pick us up
and carry us on his shoulders
from this year into the next.

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