For Prodigals & Those Who Love Them

The very word prodigal often stirs quiet murmurs among parents gathered with friends—painful glances exchanged and sympathetic nods. In a strange way, there is some relief in discovering others understand. They too have a prodigal in their family—a son or daughter, a mother or husband, a nephew or a close family friend. It’s not a badge of honor. But it is a badge—a black ribbon worn like a police officer mourning a fallen comrade.

To Be a Prodigal

To be a prodigal means recklessly spending without counting the cost—wasting resources, trust, or even one’s own life. Tim Keller, in his book The Prodigal God, rightly suggests that God is prodigal, extravagant with grace.

But this is not the kind of extravagance we speak of here.

Some of you reading this are prodigals. You have moved away from what would be the better path for your life. Deep down you likely know it, which is why you remain conflicted. Your relationships and responsibilities now revolve around your drive to be free from whatever it was you thought you had to abandon.

But Are You Really Free?

“Well,” you say, “I’m finding myself.” But at what cost?

“Who are you to judge me?” Honestly, there is no judgment here. It’s that quiet voice within you that judges, which is why your soul is unsettled and you feel uncomfortable.

“I’ll make things right later. Right now, I just want to have fun.” But how “fun” is it really, especially when those who love you most are devastated because they see you running away?

“Who cares?” you ask. And that, I suppose, is the point. Prodigals often only think of themselves.

To Be Fair

To be fair, there may be real wounds or traumas shaping this journey, and being lost in what feels right for “self” is real and powerful. But if that is you, now is the time to return home. Cry out to God. Confess that you are tired and broken and want His best. Enter into the raw humanity and humility of the son who ran from his father only to realize his life was a mess—and that it was time to go home (see Luke 15:11 and following).

Stop “Shoulding” All Over Yourself

Some of you have prodigals you love deeply, and your love causes pain you never knew possible. You spend time asking what you did wrong, what you should have done differently, and what it might take to make things right. As a wise friend says, “Stop shoulding all over yourself!” It won’t solve anything.

Remember Genesis 3. My friend Larry Osborne recently reminded me that Adam and Eve were the very first prodigals. They grew up in a perfect environment with the perfect Parent—God himself.

They were created in God’s image, endowed with finite reflections of His wisdom, discernment, work ethic, and love. “God blessed them,” Genesis 1:28 tells us. They had everything they needed and more. He gave them dominion over all creation. Hardly anything was beyond their reach.

They lived without shame, had meaningful relationships with each other and with God, and a clear purpose. They walked with God in the cool of the Garden. Their world was beyond amazing.

Yet they believed it wasn’t enough. They rebelled, forfeiting everything—including God, the ultimate Parent—and chose their own way. So the question is: if even God’s first children rejected all He provided, why do we think we can control the choices of those we love? It’s simply not that simple. It Need Not Be Our Fault

So We Hope

We hurt. We wait. We pray—oh, how we pray! We hope. And like God did with Adam and Eve, we speak truth with love (Gen. 3:14-19), draw boundaries where necessary (Gen. 3:23-24), lavish grace if they return (Gen. 3:21), and carry on—faithfully remembering there are “other sheep” (John 10:16) to love and shepherd as well.