Prodigal Children: The Hope of a Parent

There are moments in life when the quiet speaks louder than words ever could. For me, that quiet often comes in the absence of some of my children. The distance between us is not measured in miles, but in choices, beliefs, and convictions. I raised them with the best intentions, grounded in what I believed was right—faith, discipline, and a way of life that honored God. Yet, somewhere along the way, those choices created space between us. And that space has at times felt like a canyon.

As a father, I miss them deeply. The ache of not hearing their voices, of not sharing in their lives, is something that never fully goes away. There are days when memories come rushing back—the laughter at the dinner table, the milestones we celebrated, the love that once felt so close. Those moments remind me of what’s missing, but they also remind me of the love I have for them that still remains, even if it goes unspoken.

At the same time, I have been blessed with an extended family of children and grandchildren who fill my life with joy. Their hugs, their laughter, their presence—all of it is a gift. My days are full in many ways, and for that I am deeply grateful. But even in that fullness, there is an emptiness only certain relationships can fill. It is a reminder that life is both beautiful and broken, whole and incomplete at the same time.

When I wrestle with this tension, my heart often turns to the parable of the prodigal son. I think of the father in that story, who never stopped watching the road. He didn’t chase his son down, but he never gave up hope either. And when the day finally came, he ran to meet him, arms wide open. That father’s love wasn’t conditional—it was constant, waiting, ready.

I find myself living in that same posture—looking down the road with hope. I don’t know when or how reconciliation might come, but I believe it will. God’s timing is not mine, and His ways are higher than my understanding. My part is to remain steadfast, to love without bitterness, and to be ready if and when the day of reunion arrives.

Until then, I live in the balance of longing and gratitude. I pour myself into the family who is near, I cherish the blessings I’ve been given, and I continue to pray for healing where there is distance. I hold onto the promise that God restores, redeems, and makes all things new.

I know that I am not the only parent walking this road, so know this: you are not alone. The silence may feel heavy, but hope is never lost. Just as the prodigal son found his way home, so too can the bonds of love be mended. Until that day, we keep watching, we keep believing, and we keep trusting God, who holds every story in His hands.