Sometimes we get stuck seeing things our way. Would you like to see some things through another set of eyes? Maybe it will make you think and stretch or maybe just chuckle or shed a tear. Here is my world through my eyes...

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Prodigal's father

This past Sunday I was the substitute teacher in Sunday School.  The main parable of the lesson was the Prodigal Son.  This quote in the lesson by Gordon B.Hinckley has really had me thinking:   "Every parent ought to read it again and again. It is large enough to encompass every household, and enough larger than that to encompass all mankind, for are we not all prodigal sons and daughters who need to repent and partake of the forgiving mercy of our Heavenly Father and then follow His example?” (“Of You It Is Required to Forgive,” Ensign, June 1991, 5).

As a father my thoughts tend to turn first to what it must have been like for him.  Here is a poem I wrote as I contemplated what it must have been like for the father.

Prodigal's Father

He sat and watched the horizon
remembering the day,
feeling the feelings, again:
his failure, the guilt, the teetering hope.

The day life changed
family changed
peace and comfort changed
to pain and loss.

"I know he has struggled,
chafed under family rules
but please Lord,
bring him safely home."

This prayer mumbled aloft,
thought again and again,
prayed on hurting knees
over and over again.

Every chance he got
every day, many times a day,
sometimes in mid night,
he looked to the road home.

Although supplies, sheep,
and the occasional neighbor
was seen;
his lost son was not.

Had he failed his son
so much?
Not taught him of truth?
Not met his fatherly edict from God?

Was it me
that pushed him to go?
Not loving enough?
Loving too much?

Will he return?
Surely he will?
It has been so long,
is all hope lost?

His other son comes.
Wonders why father
is so forlorn.
Angry thoughts of "I'm here".

Wife worries.
Not just for sons,
but for husband.
He has not been himself.

Father moves through each day
not sure how to maintain
the traditions and the family,
with an empty chair.

Friends initially comfort,
then try to cheer,
then to distract,
finally come too little.

Day after day;
week after week;
season by season;
hope by lost hope.

The father still looks on
into the distance
looking for a hope
of his son's return.

Father feels old.
Mother tries to heal all.
Remaining son feels cold.
Friends move on.

Father in his chair
hope almost gone,
but he clings, he clings...

Heavy head droops,
almost touches
heavy heart.
He glances up.

A speck
A spot
A shape
Is it him?

It can’t be.
Can it be?
It is him!

 Copyright by Dallas, Dad, Big D and I

1 comment:

  1. aww dad!!! another cool poem! the end made me cry!!! you did a great job helping the reader to really feel what it might have felt like for the dad :) you gots poem skillz!


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