Waiting on the Prodigal

My youngest son has decided he no longer believes in God. He has left his family and is living the life of a single man. His behaviors have broken the hearts of many who love him. These actions have damaged his relationships with his family and my relationships with my daughter in law and my grandchildren, all of whom I adore. There is no soul not hurting. Ned and I have spent many tearful hours in prayer, asking God to prick his heart and work in his life, to bring him home. I have been searching the scriptures for encouragement and comfort and hope.
Over and over again, I find myself drawn to the story of the prodigal son in Luke 15. I read the parable and notice it chronicles the life of the son. We know he disrespects his father by demanding his inheritance. We know he squandered his inheritance with wild living. He was undisciplined and dissipated and before long, had nothing left. He went to work feeding the pigs, deciding whether or not to fight them for the daily slop that was unfit for human consumption. We know what this young son was doing.
But, the story does not tell us what the father was doing all this time. I can imagine he had to go on with his daily life, doing the work, providing for his family, running his business. I can imagine he had to force himself to not worry, to not think about the possibilities of the pigpen or worse. I can imagine he'd packed and unpacked his bags several times, talking himself out of going to look for his lost boy. I can imagine he remembered how sweet and innocent the child had once been, how smart and clever, and how the child who used to make him laugh, now only makes him cry. I can imagine everytime someone came down the path, he squinted his eyes, hoping to see that familiar gait, getting ready to run towards the figure and welcome him home. I can imagine he avoided people who would ask about his son, feeling his shame and finding it increasingly difficult to report good news. I can imagine this father hurt everyday, every hour and every minute.
And yet, he waited and watched. The text says, while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and came running. He did not know why his son was coming home. The son may have been coming to ask for more money. He may have only been coming for a visit. To the father, it did not matter why he came home, only that he did. The father had only to look into the eyes of his beloved son, had only to hear the first few words, "father, I have sinned against . . . " before he knew it was time to celebrate. It was time to celebrate hope!!! The son was lost but now is found. That is cause to celebrate.
I find myself wondering what brought the boy home. The text says he came to his senses. What helped him get his mind right? Was it the prayers of the father? Was it the hope of those who loved him? Was it the smell of his new life? Whatever the catalyst, the result was the warm embrace of his father, the return of a dear and treasured relationship, and a celebration of repentance.
So now, I find myself praying for Nathan. I pray that if it takes a pigpen to bring him home, that the pigpen is just around the corner. I pray that our Father will keep him safe until he comes to his senses. I pray that he will realize what he has lost and come home . . . and so with broken heart and tear filled eyes, I watch and wait.

Neva