On the Porch

I sat on the front porch tonight gazing down the long, tree lined street in front of our house. Sitting there waiting for my girl to come around the bend, it comes to me. Falling down through the leaves, that are now beginning to blaze with color, the words sift.

"While he was still a long way off, his father saw him coming. Filled with love and compassion, he ran to his son, embraced him, and kissed him." 

This story is one of my favorites. The lost son coming home. The characters come to life and seem to play out on the lawn in front of me. Each character weaves in and out of my world. Keenly aware of each one of these roles, I wonder at being the rebellious son. Leaving behind this kind of Father I have been this son and have known the mercy of the Father who waits, not to punish but to receive. I am blown apart by this every time. How does He still wait for me, watch for me, long for me, after all I have done. 
Shamefully, I do know the heart of the older brother, too well sometimes. Striving, driven to impress and doing what he 'should'. How I wish I could say that I am free of his jealous heart. Never wavering, consistent, and dependable, he longs for his Father to see all his works. The feast is filled with cringing as his spoiled brother receives the welcome he has longed for. His is a heart hardened by wanting more than the love his father offers. Devoid of mercy he stays in the darkness and misses the joy. 
 Waiting still. I am struck by my impatience in the way I wait. I am waiting for dear ones to come home. Wondering at the longing I feel. Praying for Him to turn their journey. My heart breaks for the still rebellious sons. I don't like the waiting and it makes me wish I was no longer on the porch. Maybe I am a too poor an actor to get this role. I look up, just then, to see my girl stroll across the yard and break up the story. The characters seem to evaporate into the crisp fall air. There is so much joy in that simple moment. Embracing her like she has been gone too long I know this is not a role. It is Him and Mercy and JOY. His eyes straining, longing, hoping to see that glimpse of the lost son coming home and waiting on the porch.