From Prodigal Son to Running Father

I’ve spent most of my life identifying with the prodigal son.
The one who wandered.
The one who failed.

And for years, that’s the only role I knew how to play.
The son who needed mercy.
The son who didn’t know where he belonged.
The son who kept waiting for someone to love him the way he ached to be loved.

But the Lord has been making radical changes in my heart.

Something happened recently — something small in words, but seismic in truth. I was sharing with my cousin about the past few years and how being met by the God of mercy has shaped me more than any wound ever could.

And he gently pointed out, “Yeah… like the father in the story of the prodigal son.”

I didn’t expect that.
It hit me like a punch in the gut.

Because I’ve only ever seen myself as the returning son.
The broken one.
The one who needs the embrace.

But he was right.

Being the son — being the one who was met by relentless mercy — is exactly what has been forming me into the father ready to receive the repentant one.

The father who keeps the porch light on.
The father who runs toward the one who hurt him.
The father who knows what it feels like to starve for love, so he never withholds it from anyone else.

I used to think my wounds disqualified me from loving well.
Now I’m starting to see they trained me.

I used to think I was stuck in the role of the prodigal.
But the truth is: the son who receives mercy becomes the father who gives it.

Maybe that’s the real inheritance in the story.
Not the robe.
Not the ring.
Not the feast.

The Father’s heart.
The Sacred Heart.

I’m not just the son anymore.
I’m becoming the father.

And that feels like grace I didn’t even know I was allowed to receive.

Peace,
Joshua