The Prodigal Daughter

" Jesus told this parable: 'There was a man who had two sons, and the younger son said to his father, ' Father, give me the share of your estate that should come to me.' After a few days, the younger son collected all his belongings and set off to a distant country where he squandered his inheritance on a life of dissipation. When he had freely spent everything, a severe famine struck that country, and he found himself in dire need. Coming to his senses, he got up and went back to his father. His father caught sight of him and was filled with compassion. He ran to his son, embraced him and kissed him. His son said to him, 'I no longer deserve to be called your son.' But his father ordered his servants, 'Quickly, bring the finest robe, and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Take the fatted calf and slaughter it. Then let us celebrate with a feast.

Now the older son became angry and refused to enter the house. His father came out and pleaded with him. He said to his father in reply. 'Look, all these years, I served you, and not once did I disobey your orders. His father said to him, ' My son, you are here with me always; everything I have is yours. But now, we must celebrate and rejoice, because your brother was dead and has come to life again; he was lost and has been found.' " [ Luke 15: 1-15].

The first time I read this story, I thought that it must be wrong! I have spent my entire life, working hard to be obedient and helpful. But, this story says that the father [i.e., the Father] does not love us more, or less, according to what we do. God will take us back, in our contrition, no matter what we have done.

Our earthly, secular selves cry out, screaming : "That is NOT fair! Look at how good I have been!"

I suspect that we also grumble, as we would at an unrealistic movie, saying, " Like THAT would ever happen!?"

But the story of The Prodigal Son does happen in real life. We all descend into difficult, back-biting, even vengeful relationships: with the difficult boss, with a high maintenence friend, even with our own brothers or mothers. This is what it is to be human: to bicker, but to long for reconcilation.

It is when we face the permanent loss of that person that we face a stark choice. What if that younger son in the parable had truly been lost? What if he had died?

I faced this with my own mother.

My mother was beautiful; but mercurial in every sense of the word: eloquent, shrewd, fast changing. She was sharp tongued one minute, gentle the next.

She could heap compliments on me that were actually veiled barbs of jealousy. She would say, " You have beautiful hair, thick and lustrous. Not like my thin, drab hair." Or she would say, " You have beautiful strong legs. Not like mine that are thin and weak."

She could be cruel to me. One day, I came home from school and our little dog was gone. My mother had given her away. I walked to back school for the afternoon session, in tears. I thought, 'What kind of mother did I get?'

When I was 13, I came home from school and all my beloved stuffed animals were gone. These were my dear friends. They all had names and personalities. She had given them away because a day or so earlier, I had sided with my father.

And yet, she always took me to the library, or to the pool, or to the skating rink, whenever I asked. If we ate at a diner, she always shared her French fries with me. She called me "Dear", and invited me into her bed as a child, if I had a nightmare.

But in graduate school, she truly abandoned me. I was a victim of a violent crime. I almost died that day. But my mother left me there in that distant city to cope alone.

I got married to a Catholic. My mother was furious. She refused to stand in the receiving line at my wedding.

After I married a Catholic, I was disinvited to holidays. I was invited on vacations with her and my father, but without my husband. I declined to go.

My husband and I moved away. We hit the hard times that many young couples do: expensive dental work, saving for our first house, sudden expenses for burst water pipes. I decided that I would rather eat rice and beans, before I went crawling back to my mother for help.

Then, one spring day, I was tackling some spring cleaning when the phone rang early in the morning. It was my brother. Our father had fallen gravely ill, and had been rushed to the hospital.

A short time later, my brother called back. He said, "Dad did not make it."

He said, "We need you down here. Right now."

Part of me wanted to say no. My mother had abandoned me. Let her cope alone.

I struggled only momentarily, though. Then, I said to myself, this is my mother we are talking about.  My father had died. What if my mother died as well? What if I never had a chance to be close to her again, or to say goodbye? And so, I told my brother, "I am on my way."

As I got in the car to go to her and to my brother, all the years of anger and hurt melted away. Whatever my mother had done or not done over the years, it did not matter in that moment. I was going to see my mother again and get her back in my life. With my father's death, she had become precious anew.

When I saw my mother again, she was pale, painfully thin, needy both physically and emotionally. She had changed utterly. She needed me. And I needed her back in my life. I had a relentless urge to cradle her in my arms

My mother ultimately moved near me. That first night she came up to me, we had a family celebration dinner, all of us-- our mother, her children, her grandchildren. It felt odd to be all together like this, when things had been so strained in the past. But it felt right.

She and I made our new life together. But, we made the mistake of trying to "prove" our new-found allegiance, with what we did for each other. She cleaned my house. She did my dishes. She tried to give me money for groceries. I took her to the doctor and hairdresser. I balanced the checkbook for her and filed her taxes. We could not out do each other in this way.

We were both wrong. 

Noted author Stephen J. Binz says, " God does not care about production. There is no way to make points with Him."  God simply loves us, as His children, no matter what.

His Love is not a contest. His Love simply IS.

Our Love should not be a contest either. Neither should our Hate become a battle of wills, sending us into vengefulness, stubborn silence, or harsh words. We lose too much that way.

We lose each other, when we should be finding each other.

" Prodigal" means "wasteful", in the sense of the younger brother, who squandered his half of the paternal inheritance. It also means, "extravagantly generous." I was, in essence, the Prodigal Daughter.

Call me crazy, call me extraordinarily generous. But I took my mother back when she had treated me cruelly and abandoned me, and when I had no earthly reason to even speak to her again.

It was the loss of my father that taught me how precious my mother really was. I HAD to be generous, or I would have lost my mother, as well. More loss, or Love? I chose Love.

[ Related Posting: "The Prodigal Son", March 10, 2013.]

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