I Am The Prodigal Son

Sitting in church with tears pouring down my face for the last 90 min everything goes silent like sitting in a vacuum and I hear only one thing, “You are the prodigal son, it is time to go home to the Father.” Somehow the tears start flowing harder and luckily there is no one sitting in front of me as I stood over what would have been their chair and my tears fell all over it.

Let me backup about 30 years. When I was 12 or 13 my mom bought me a guitar. I learned from an incredibly talented musician with a worship and children’s music ministry named Chip Richter. I learned exclusively worship songs. The spark for worship grew to a blazing fire through my teen years. I played on worship teams in Youth With A Mission, I led worship for children groups my age, then highschool worship teams, then college groups. I knew one secular song and let’s be completely clear, it was purely to get girls. Besides that I knew only worship.

Worship, relationship, church were the cornerstones of my life until my mid 20’s. I avoided drugs, alcohol and sexual relationships with girls during my teen years and young adult life. I smoked Marlboro Reds followed by Camel Lights as my greatest “sin” (though to be fair I’m sure my mom would attest to possibly greater sins). I avoided destructive groups of friends as all of my friends were from YWAM, church, or private school my last two years of highschool.

In my mid 20’s I was married, bought a house and cars a few years later, and became an adult and business owner. As an adult the cornerstones were discarded and replaced with different ones. Church became something “you don’t need to be a Christian.” Leading worship and being involved in church or a worship group completely ended. My guitar collected the dust and ashes of a fire put out by the wet blanket of disconnection from God. Worship music became something I used when I felt sad or depressed or needed to feel better. I read the Bible, but only to feel good about myself and keep those who asked about my relationship with God at bay. Alcohol became more than a tasty treat every once in a while and morphed to a daily event. Relationships changed from being focused on God and Heaven, to focused on here and now. I became selfish and focused only on myself in my marriage, relationships with family and friends, and my business.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like my life was miserable and full of debauchery and sin like a Roman week-long orgy. I didn’t ever turn completely from my faith. On and off there were spurts of inspiration and involvement in my spiritual life. I began abusing alcohol and my unrecognized and untreated codependency was an abusive wrecking ball that tore through my marriage, family, and friends with absolute abandon. My alcoholism and abusive codependency cared nothing for the wreckage it left behind and only about the constant destruction and self-pity.

I went to AA, got a sponsor, and began what is now almost 5 months of sobriety. Everything seemed to be going along swimmingly. Crushed the 12 steps, stayed sober, cruised through 60 and 90 days. I had countless people encouraging me to go to church that I ignored and still only read my Bible in the morning as part of my “routine for staying sober” not as something to restore my relationship with God and my Father.

Still ignoring my codependency I continued to have abusive controlling behaviors. Lying, manipulating, trying to manage my life, relationships, and “God’s will” to fit my own idea of what was good for me and what my future held. Until all my choices met together in an explosion of the perfect storm. Relationship choices collided, my codependency desperation spun up to a fever pitch of obsession, my alcohol recovery brain lied and twisted my emotions and thoughts to believing a “fate” that was incredibly wrong (when they say do not trust your emotions or thoughts for 12-18 months of sobriety, FREAKING LISTEN! You are not different and I have learned, neither am I!) .

I sat in the wreckage of what I had created. A broken foundation that led to broken walls that led to the roof collapsing around me and the enormous black wrecking ball still swinging causing its shadow to pass over me from my left to my right and back again with the creaking of the chain holding it sounding like sinister laughter of victory.

As I walked through the doors of the church and stood behind the seat that would be shortly covered in tears I felt it build within seconds. The worship lasted 2 hours and the tears did too. The testimonies, prayers for the sick and injured, preaching, and altar call to those who needed God lasted another two as the tears came on and off. Some of the members and staff periodically came to check on me, making me feel at home and safe to stand/sit and cry as I knew I was loved and would be taken care of.

As I left having met the pastor 4 hours after I walked in I had only one thing going through my head:

I am the prodigal son, and it is time to go home to the Father.

And with that, I will take another 24