I am not so much the prodigal son who left for years but more the inattentive prodigal who neglects to call or to write or to pray while lavishing energy and anxiety on a busy life that I pretend is not a rat race. The prodigal son wanted his piece of the race so he pursued the high life; much less ambitious, I pursue doubt and worry while you watch the road to see when I will set down my burden and dance. Wasting my focus on each day’s workload, I miss the beauty of each long night. Determined to wring goodness from despair, I stockpile austerity and squander moments of joy. Anxious for tomorrow, I am careless with today. O God, my God — most abundant & delighting God — I am a misplaced prodigal, investing my spirit where it is not needed, chasing abundance when it is fleeting, hoarding worry though I should be holding peace. Help me open my hands to the extravagance of your peace.

on Luke 15:11-32

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