The Prodigal Returns

Mary McCleary is one of my favorite local artists. She created this rendition of the return of the Prodigal Son using a variety of materials. The original collage art is spectacular to see in person. She chose a Texas Bar-B-Q picnic to tell this ancient story.

Yesterday I got a letter in the mail at church. I reached into my mail slot expecting only to pull out another stack of junk mail, and there the letter was. I saw his scratchy little writing. He's not my natural born son, nor is he adopted, yet I claim his as my own.

I first met him in Africa. Then he was in his late teens. We'll just call him "The Prodigal" for now. He was a skinny, dusty young man with a mother determined to improve his life. My father and I were in Africa simply to visit with a church member of mine who had grown up there. My father and I promised to help "The Prodigal" get to America to attend college.

Very long story....short. He came to America. He achieved not only a Bachelor's degree, but a Masters degree. He got a job in another state. He proved again and again and again to be a hard working, moral, intelligent, compassionate man.

"The Prodigal" became part of our family and our extended family.

Then, two and a half years ago we stopped hearing from him. It was as if he fell off the earth. Our hearts were broken. He didn't ask for money. He didn't ask for anything. He just became silent.

A year ago I located a mailing address and wrote a letter. We received a Christmas card from another address with nothing but his name scrawled at the bottom of the pre-printed message. At least we knew he was alive.

I simply chose to let go and trust that he would be o.k., that one day he would break the silence.

Yesterday.....his letter came.

After two and a half years almost three he tells us of his ordeal in a short letter. The end result is that he is now a permanent resident of the U.S., is safe and will soon talk with us in person. I can only imagine that unlike the Biblical prodigal, our prodigal cut us out of his life to protect us, to give himself the space to claim his own rights in his own way.

When he walks into our house again his favorite corn bread will be waiting for him.

Thank God.....our Prodigal has returned.