It seemed he had just fallen asleep, but a glance at the bedside clock confirmed the dawning of another day was near.  The weariness of the day before settled down upon him. The familiar sadness was a constant reminder that all was not well. How long had it been now? It seemed as though it had been forever.  He felt old. Though his body yet retained a youthful vigor and strength, the sense of loss sucked away his energy. With a sigh, he threw back the covers, slid from the bed and onto his knees. For a few moments, he rested his head upon his arms, closed his eyes and wished for sleep and the end to his pain. He knows where the boy is. He could just go to him.  The words of love and entreaty he would speak flowed through his mind.  He would end this agony.  Today. Surely after all this time, he would have realized he had been wrong. Suddenly filled with hope and anticipation, the man lifted his hands toward heaven as a familiar presence filled the room. 

 

“No,” the Voice spoke.  “You must not go to him. You must allow him the freedom to make his own choice.”  

 

 

IN A FAR COUNTRY

 

He had drunk himself into oblivion again. Finally reaching the state of numbness that was becoming harder and harder to reach, he spent the night on the floor.  Alone in the stench and filth of his wrong choices, his body twitched and quivered as the dreams once again flowed through his mind. 

The images of what used to be were bright beacons, piercing through the darkness of the prison bars of addiction that held him. His father came into the room. He tried to hide, but there was no place to go. He covered his face, but he could still see the loving kindness and forgiveness that enveloped him in peace and the promise of safety. With a terrible groaning, his body writhed as the battle for his soul was waged. His father’s voice rose loud and clear through the agony of deliverance. 

 

“Come home, my son. You can come home.  It’s Christmas again. Christ is with you. Let Him bring you home for Christmas.” 

 

As his father reached out his hand, the boy pushed himself up from the floor.  As though still dreaming, he walked through the door.  Out of the prison of hopelessness and despair he set his feet toward home, his hand holding fast to his father’s hand. 

 

 HOME

 

It was almost time for dinner. He would go once more before he faced another day’s end and another painful night. He walked through the house, the rooms filled with the scents and smells of Christmas.

 

“Even if he did not come,” he thought, “it would still be Christmas. Christ came and nothing could take that away. Christ is within us,” he reminded himself again. Our ever present help, comfort and peace. Though sorrow and loss fills my heart, the joy of knowing Immanuel, Christ with us will sustain me until I see the answer to my prayers coming down that road.”

 

As he stood once again upon the porch and lifted his eyes to look far into the distance, his heart skipped a beat. Someone was coming! Is it possible? 

 

“All things are possible with me.” replied the Voice. “Nothing is impossible.”

 

He could wait no longer. With a glad cry, laughing and crying, “He’s home for Christmas!  My son that was lost is found,” the father ran with his arms spread wide to catch his boy up into his arms. The boy fell into his father’s arms, weeping in shame and regret.  “Father, forgive me, I don’t deserve anything good from you. You’ve given me everything and I threw it away. I have nothing left.” He cried bitterly.

 

“No, no,” his father replied, laughing and holding him close. “I love you. You have been forgiven long before today. Come, let us celebrate Christmas together, for you are the only gift I have ever wanted for Christmas.”

 

And there was great rejoicing in Heaven over this one sinner that had come home. 

 

Are you now in a “far country?”  Do you know someone dear to you that is “lost” in their own “far country.” If so, keep on believing and praying with faith in God’s goodness and mercy, for I know He is answering our prayers. I, too, had a prodigal. I know the sleepless nights and days of continuous prayer and watching down that long road. My prodigal will be home for Christmas.  God has changed his heart and filled him with His Holy Spirit. He has been transformed into a man that is after God’s heart, delivered from addictive spirits and wrong thinking.  We are rejoicing with exceeding great joy, for Christ is with us and this will be the best Christmas ever.  I pray that every prodigal come to himself or herself and come home for Christmas.

 

Patsy Lewis