Prodigal Come Home

Yesterday I received the blessing of meeting one of my cousins again. That sounds a little strange, I'm sure, but when you are in the 40 years old range and all your memories of someone are from the childhood and teen years, then the truth is that you don't know that person. She is not the same person she was in the 70s and 80s any more than I am. So I met her again, and the time was as wonderful as she is. Ok, in some ways she hasn't changed a bit.

But as great and laughter filled as the visit was, I came away from it a little sad as well. Sad is not the right word. My joy was tinged with regret. I thought I had not seen her since probably 1989, and that alone is regrettable. I have always told myself and others that family is very important to me, and yet, I have lost touch with so many. As the years stretch by it gets easier and easier to let the gap widen and the relationships fade. Feelings of shame for why I lost touch with everyone combine with fear of rejection to keep me from reaching out. That is not how recovery should be, but it is how I feel all too often, even now, when I stop long enough to look at it and be honest with myself.

But yesterday, I learned something else. I was wrong about the last time I saw my cousin. I saw her in 1999. I just didn't remember the short encounter she had with a trashed out man who looked a mess, was a worse mess, and greeted the cousin he loved and hadn't seen in years simply with the words, "You didn't see me here." She responded, "Cool," and I walked away from that convenience store so far from where I was supposed to be at the time with someone I never should have spent any time with, and left. A few months later my house of cards crashed down and my choices finished taking away even the illusion of freedom in my life.

Oh how far I fell from the precocious little blonde haired boy who ran laughing through life spreading joy and loving family. But I am not feeling sorry for myself or wallowing in regret. I am grateful. I am grateful that I am closer to that childlike joy than I have ever been since my youth. I am thankful for a relationship with God that erases the shame of the past and uses the crap consequences of foolish choices as fertilizer to help myself and others grow in relationship and recovery. And I am grateful for family who walk into rooms with smiles and open arms for the prodigal son who wasted all on riotous living. I am grateful that I bear little resemblance to the man who walked into a store three hours from home and bumped into two cousins in 1999. I am grateful for recovery and freedom from self-imposed bondage and slavery. And I know that I am forgiven. The joy of forgiveness overrides the pain of regret, the fear of rejection and the sense of shame that would enslave me again.

I am so grateful to have met a wonderful lady who still so reminds me of the childhood friend I loved so many years ago. I am grateful for her open arms and tight hug and amazing smile. But I am not special. This is not even a rare miracle. The truth is that I am loved by an amazing God who has a special love for the broken, the bruised and the slave. He offers freedom and recovery to all who will receive it and surrender to His call that says to the addict, come home and let Me restore you.

I do have family that are not quite as quick to forgive and welcome. Others have forgiven and rejoiced at my recovery but the closeness just will never be there. But out of total insanity and isolation I have found relationship, most importantly with God. There are new relationships that strengthen and enrich my life. And I can look in the mirror this morning without shame, fear and self-rejection. What I have done, anyone can do. All that is required is to hear the call and respond. Prodigal, come home. It seems an eternity away, you've run so far, but in truth, you're only 12 steps away from deliverance and relationship with the Father who stands on His porch daily looking down the road just waiting for a glimpse of His child.