Christian Living

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The Prodigal Daughter
By TL Watchman
Copyright February 2004
From the Father's Heart Collection

Recently, I sat down to write an article about the prodigal son. As I thought about it, the parable brought back memories of the struggle we had with our own wayward child. Like the prodigal son, she left home at an early age. But unlike him, our then 18 year old daughter did not leave of her own free will. Her behavior left her mother and me no choice, but to remove her from our home.

While this happened years ago, I still remember how difficult it was for us to ask her to leave. We knew she had no money, no source of income, and no place to go. But we also knew she was a survivor, and somehow she would make it.

The day she left was especially hard for me. No doubt, we love our children. We've always been a close family. So, this was not a hasty decision. In fact, I almost caved. Something kept telling me to stop her before it was too late. But I knew I could not do that. I could not reverse our decision. Her footprints had trampled the last line in the sand. If we were ever going have our daughter back, we knew we could not continue to enable her lifestyle. It didn't matter if she lived at home or away. We just wanted her to come to her senses. To be the godly woman we knew she could be.

As I continued to study the parable, I could not help thinking about the son's father. Jesus tells us about the son's worldliness, but he doesn't tell us what the father went through, knowing his son was headed to disaster. So I leaned back in my chair and began to think about him and the sleepless nights he had to endure, worrying about his son's safety.

I also thought about the day his son returned. It probably started out like every other day. I pictured the father waking, eating, and assigning chores to his servants. Afterwards I imagined him heading to his favorite place. This place was no ordinary place. It was a place of solitude and prayer. To him, it was not a piece of land from which he could see the road and watch for his son's return. No, it was more than this to him. It was hallowed ground; christened with his tears and potted by his bended knees.

On the day his son returns, I see the father praying on his knees, crying out to his heavenly Father. Then, as he slowly rises, something from afar catches his eye. A form silhouetted against the bright sky causes his heart to stir. He squints, hoping to make out the form. He's still not sure. He's seen them before. Up to now, they were only hopeful silhouettes; strangers passing along the road going who knows where. But this form was different. He knew the gait. Oh, it was much slower now, not as smug or self-assured as before. However, there was no mistaking it. Everything inside him told him to stay calm. After all, the years of dashed hopes had shaken his confidence a little.

As the darkened form moves closer, it begins to take shape, color and more importantly a face, an unmistakable face. The face he'd longed to see, but never thought he would. This face was right in front of him. Full of joy, tears, and forgiveness he doesn't wait for the form to reach him. No, he runs to welcome his son home. Then he asks one of his servants to bring his son the best robe, a ring, shoes for his feet, and of course the fatted calf. Now, that must have been some celebration.

Writing about the prodigal son reminded me of the day my wife handed me a card from my daughter. I can't recall if she'd ever written us before. I sat, staring at it. I wasn't expecting anything more than a request for money or something similar. Things had been better between us. In fact, I helped move her to her new school. And while things had gradually changed, I still had some concerns about her faith and our relationship.

Finally, I opened the card and began to read. It didn't take long to realize this letter was not what I expected. As I continued, tears began to well up in my eyes. The tears made it more difficult to read, but I pressed on, wiping them away, choking them back, and praying my wife would not see me. Not believing what I read the first time, I read it again, savoring every word. Finally, it dawned on me. Like the prodigal son's father, the day for our celebration had arrived. My daughter was back.

Here is the letter she wrote:

Dear Dad,

I want to thank you for being a man of God. If it were not for you Dad, I probably would not be saved—a child of God. Yes, I did not live a Christ-like life. For years, I was the lost sheep. But, with your persistence, I’m saved. If you and mom had not cared about what happened to me when I walked out the front door in ’97, I probably would not be sitting here telling you how much I love you Dad.

Dad, I am still not perfect. I still have a lot of growing to do in the Lord, but I am doing better with the choices I make. You have given me wisdom, now it’s up to me to take what you’ve taught me. I just want you and mom to have confidence in me.

Love,

Your Daughter

My response to her letter, “Forgiven.” Now, about that fatted calf...

Copyright 2005

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