As the days wear on, with each passing hour I keep reminding God that NOW would be a good time for a miracle. NOW surely He would get immeasurably more glory if He would just direct the searchers, bring the boys ashore, open the eyes of those loved ones and volunteers endlessly scoping miles and miles of ocean…as if my reminding Him or begging Him will change fate, turn the tides. And then David and I just weep ourselves to sleep. It’s been a terrible, tragic, LONG as hell week.
And they aren’t my kids. I’ve never even met them.
David and I watched this interview with Austin’s father, Blu. His broken heart, quivering voice, and desperate need for hope and help was just more than I could stand to watch. David said emphatically, “That man’s not coming home without his boy. I don’t blame him, I wouldn’t either.”
Because that’s the kind of man I married. That’s the kind of dad Blu is. And it reminded me of a story…
There once was a Father who loved His son very much. And when this young man decided to take life on his own terms, demanding his share of the inheritance long before his father drew his last breath, the father obliged him. What else could He do? His son wanted to go, His son thought He knew what dangers and pitfalls life could bring and never anticipated any future difficulty. He left with a pep in his step sure that he knew better than his old man and looked forward to all the newfound freedom that would surely be his right on down the road.
But it didn’t take long before the money ran out and subsequently all his friends were gone too. Reduced to eating pig’s leftovers, the son reasoned that he could at least fare better as one of his father’s servants with decent food and shelter. Reluctantly, expecting to be treated as a hired hand, the son began the long journey home.
But his father had never stopped looking for him. Day after day he had scanned the horizon looking for that distinguished knock-kneed gait his son had always walked with.
Evening after evening the father left a lamp lit, looked out the door one more time before bed each night always hoping and praying His son would be home. So many days and nights had passed and yet the father’s hope never waned. He waited anxiously for the return of his beloved boy.
And then one day, this wayward son was faintly visible to the Father’s broken-hearted eyes! He began running towards his long lost boy, joy overtaking each old-man step! His son, who had been as good as dead, had returned! The Father was so joyful he immediately restored this wayward boy and began planning the night’s festivities to celebrate!
Watching Blu’s broken soul cry out for his beloved boy reminded me of our Heavenly Father and how much He hurts when we are separated from him. He solemnly allows us to go our own way, meanwhile constantly scanning the horizon, waiting with hope in his heart and love in his arms to welcome us home the minute we make a move His direction. The wayward son never even got to work his way fully through his practiced apologetic speech before his father gave him a prominent place and restored his previously spent inheritance.
Just like Blu, endlessly scanning the horizon, our Heavenly Father awaits our return to His arms. No matter what we’ve done, where we’ve been, He just wants to bring us back into the fold. If you’ve found yourself praying to a God you’ve barely spoken with over the past so many months or years to please bring back these boys…how do you think the Heavenly Father of all the universe feels about you? His heart is just as longing, just as willing, just as hopeful as Blu’s is to bring home his son.
Blu’s interview was heartbreaking because it’s a real dad, with a real son, missing and feared lost forever. But it surely reminded me of a real Heavenly Father who is just as heartbroken over missing his beloved children who have wandered far from his arms. If you’ve been distant from God, listen to Blu’s voice. Hear the love of a Father begging you to come home, desperately searching the horizon for your familiar figure. Come home.