The Story of Two Lost Sons

This morning my pastor cried.  I’ve never seen this before.  He actually shed tears for those of us in his congregation.  I understand why.  His sermon was as moving as any I’ve heard in many, many years.

 He was preaching on Luke 15:11-31.  He called it the Story of the Two Lost Sons.  Most of us know it as the story of the prodigal son.  While we did study the younger, greedy son.  Much of our time was spent on the older, hard-hearted son.  Pastor Drew compared him to Israel of the time.  They had everything, including the constant presence of the father, yet their hearts were hard and they did not share the Father’s love with the Gentiles.  Pastor Drew told us that we were one of those sons and no matter which we were, we had business to do with the Father.

 At this point I was in tears.  God had touched my heart deeply.  Since our move, I have struggled so much with my bipolar depression.  I haven’t wanted to live.  I have become the most self-centered person I know. God removed the scales from my eyes, revealed his love for me, and reminded me that he still had work for me in this world.  No one ever said it would be easy, and I am not the only person in the world afflicted with a mental illness.  I could be one to help if I could stop feeling sorry for myself.  I repented of this selfishness and asked God to show me a way through this illness that would benefit someone other than myself.

 This is my change in my journey now.  Not only do I want to recover, I want to help others recover as well.  I want to be a light in a very dark portion of the world. No one wants to deal with the mentally ill.  Frankly, we are difficult.  You can’t trust the mood you are seeing, and all you can trust is that we will try to hide how we truly are feeling.  God has a plan for me.  I am not ready for it yet, but he will show it to me when the time has come.  

 In the meantime, I can share God’s love.  With everyone.  There are a few who have shown it to me despite my difficult moods.  They are angels to me.  My husband is the highest of them.  There are too many others to mention, but I suspect they know who they are.  People who have kept me alive and have changed my life in significant ways.

 I was that elder son.  I didn’t care that the prodigal had returned. Where was my party?  Now I know that my life itself has been the party and my Lord and Savior has held me through every tear I have shed.  Now it is my turn to hold others and dry tears.  I must trust that God will heal me.  Praise Him for His goodness.  I praise him for my pastor’s tears.