It’s this time of the year that brings up one particular memory for me. Halloween. My daughter, Amy, had just started kindergarten and was raring to ‘trick or treat’ and also to have a Halloween party. But not just any old Halloween party. An epic, once in a lifetime, haunted house Halloween party.
Every day, every hour she was obsessed with planning the party and, as it kept getting more elaborate each day, our conversations about the party began to escalate. We had give and take sessions such as; yes, we can have balloons. We had; “Absolutely not!” sessions such as: “NO BAND”. In the end, I thought we had come to a good understanding over the decorations, time of the party and food…until
The phone rang. As I began talking I thought I heard the front door. I look to check and see my daughter Amy wearing her party dress, her backpack on with her teddy bear hanging out of it. She decided to run away from home. I hang up the phone. My first thought was to let her go. My second thought was about the streets she’d maybe try to cross. I grab our baby, Alison (1 year old), out of her crib at the same time screaming at Kim (3 years old) to get her shoes on. I’m running with the baby and dragging Kim along into the garage. Throw them both into the carriage and take off after Amy. And, Oh, did I mention I’m 6 1/2 months pregnant?
I can see Amy about a block ahead of us. As I’m running and pushing the carriage, I’m planning what I am going to do to and with this child once I catch up with her.
My heart was stopping as Amy crossed a street and still a block ahead of us. I’ve tried calling to her but she doesn’t hear. I’m as angry as a hornet. Another block in. Now I’m starting to breathe heavy but I’m still planning revenge for this behavior. And another block done. Now I’m just settling for getting home and saving my revenge for tomorrow. A new worry arises. We’re coming to a very busy cross street. Can I catch up to her before she may try to cross it? I’m praying. Panting and praying. Prayers answered she turns away from that street. We’re heading toward the house. Another block down. I’m still praying but given up on planning her punishment. I’m just hoping to make it home alive.
One mile later, we finally catch up with Amy. Right in front of the house. I grab her and hold her close. I’m on my knees and start kissing and hugging her. She’s safe. She’s back home.
How does this lead to the Bible? Well. This incident changed my understanding of the Parable of Lost Son. I could never understand it. Why would this father welcome back such a son who left him. I always felt for the son who stayed home and was the ‘good’ son. Boy, was I taught a lesson!
