The Prodigal Son

A Retelling

I was washing dishes one evening when, as often happens, an idea struck me and took root in my mind. I knew it wouldn’t let go until I examined it and gave it voice. So here is the expression of that idea—for your generous perusal.

I want to talk to you today about the parable of the Prodigal Son. I know it’s a bit off topic for me to tackle something like this—but bear with me.

If you’ve read my series of articles detailing my writer’s journey, then you already know that I’ve always held my faith as a deep and sacred part of who I am.

Today, I’m giving that part of me the opportunity to speak. And I hope, dear reader, that you’ll find something valuable in what it has to say.

The parable of the Prodigal Son is one of the most well-known stories in scripture. It’s even become a phrase we use casually when someone returns after a long absence: “The prodigal son returns.”

I’m sure you could recite the main points without much effort—even if you don’t attend church regularly. It’s one of those stories that seems to live in our cultural memory, nestled in our consciousness regardless of faith or belief.

Today I want to invite you to take a closer look at one of the characters in the parable. Can you guess who I'm speaking about?

If you said the son who took his share of his father’s inheritance and left—you’d be wrong.

No, today I want to talk about the father.

The one who stayed.

The one who was abandoned.

The parable takes us on a journey. We follow the son through his feasting, reveling, carousing—and then into the collapse of it all: his dissolution, his desperation.

But the story leaves us with almost no clues about what was happening at home while he was off spending his father’s legacy.

Today, I want to help you fill in the blanks. And I hope that in doing so, you’ll be able to see this parable with new eyes.

We get a small hint about what was happening with the father from a line almost at the end of the parable:

“And while he was still a long way off, his father saw him coming.”

That single line tells us so much in just a few words.

The father saw his son while he was still a long way off.

Was it simply chance? Or was it something more?

I believe it was more.

This father loved his son so deeply that he didn’t hesitate to give him half of all he had—even when that meant watching him turn his back on the family and walk away.

And even in the pain of his son’s departure, the father did not give up hope.

I imagine him standing at the edge of his fields each day, watching the road. Waiting. Just in case.

We don’t know how long he waited.
We don’t know how many days he stood there—keeping his quiet vigil.

But then, one day, he saw his son coming down the road toward him.

The parable tells us that the father was filled with love and compassion—and ran out to meet his returning son, embracing him and rejoicing in his return.

That single moment reveals so much.

The father kept his vigil, faithful in the hope that one day, he would see his son again. And when that moment finally came, he didn’t wait for his son to reach the doorstep—he ran down the road to meet him. He wrapped him in love and rejoiced.

This is love that says: “I will meet you halfway. I will not wait for you to come to me—I will come to you, and gather you in rejoicing.”

So I want to challenge you to think about this parable differently.

What if it’s not the Parable of the Prodigal Son at all?

What if it’s the Parable of the Prodigal Father—
A father whose love is lavish, unrestrained, overflowing, and always faithful to his child, even when that child makes a terrible mistake.

When I meditate on this truth—and on my relationship with God—I realize something wonderful.
God loves me even when I turn away.

He stands at the edge of the road, waiting for my return.

He is faithful, even when I am not.

And most of all—when I am honest with myself, when I choose to return—He does not wait in judgment.
He runs to meet me, halfway, in mercy and rejoicing.

I hope I’ve given you something to think about while sharing my personal understanding and belief.

And I hope that—whatever your belief—you can make space in your heart for the radical, unshakable love expressed by the father in this parable.