The Empty Seat

There was an empty seat at my thanksgiving table. It’s been empty for so many years now that we almost don’t even see it anymore. It’s the seat of a prodigal. A beloved son, brother and uncle. He took his share of the inheritance long ago and left us to pursue his own worldly passions.

Growing up, he and I were very close and I considered him one of my greatest allies. We were so alike, and to this day, people remark on our similarities. He was one of my heroes and I aspired to be like him. But something happened along the way, something dark and awful and ancient that I have never quite understood, and he walked away and has not looked back. I cried for years over this. I left countless voicemails, pleading with him to come home, but all I got back was radio silence. I tried to be long-suffering, and loving and patient. I tried to be forgiving, and I was for a while. But eventually, I became angry and bitter.

Last week, we sat around the thanksgiving table and I looked to the empty seat. I’m sure there are days where I will cry again, but for today, that well is dry, and in it’s place is a hard acceptance and a persistent hope. Despite his history of leaving phone calls unreturned, I have hope that one day he will come home. I have often turned to Luke 15 and seen my brother’s story splashed across the page. I even have his name written within the margin of my Bible. This year, I am thinking about the son’s family left behind. Don’t you know that father wept over his son’s departure. Don’t you know his brother did too? We don’t know how long the son was gone, but I imagine it was probably years. That’s a long time to not know what has happened to your son, your brother. Years of crying and praying and pleading. Eventually, for the second son, years of anger and bitterness.

I’m sorry to say that some of those emotions still linger. There are still many days where I am the second son, but I’m wrestling forgiveness all over again, and it’s a fight I’m more than willing to make. Because despite everything, all the hurt, and lies, and harsh words, I still love my brother, and I always will. And you fight for those you love. The truth is, sometimes forgiveness is a continuous action, not a singular one. No one had ever told me that, and it took a long time to learn so I want to say it to you. Sometimes the hurt is so deep and constant that it takes a daily effort to wake up and say “I forgive you” all over again. And that’s ok. Just please, don’t give up the good fight.

I believe that the Lord has a special place in His heart for the prayers of family members. We see it in stories all over scripture. And personally, on this issue, with this family member, He has gently asked me to keep praying, keep trusting.

A few years ago, while on a Disciple Now weekend in College, we went on a prayer walk under the stars. We were out in the middle of nowhere, so no man-made light could interfere with the brilliant sky. As we walked that night, I cried out to God over my lost brother. I pleaded with him to bring Him home. In response, I heard a gentle, but strong, “Trust me.” What? What did that mean? How long, Lord, would you wait to bring him home? Again, I heard it in my spirit, “Trust me. It may take 30 years, but I am at work. Trust me.” Over and over again that night, that was the Lord’s response to my questioning. “Trust me. Trust me. Trust me.” I looked up at the stars and it occurred to me that these where the same stars Abraham looked at as the Lord made his covenant to him. In my heart, something heavy and sure clicked into place. It felt like a promise and a hope, and I clung to it.

But “Trust me,” didn’t mean my work was done. Trust is not a passive task, it is an active one, and we have to find our action within it. “Trust me” in my case meant keep praying. Keep loving. Keep reaching out.

Maybe that last one isn’t for you and your prodigal. Sometimes for the sake of your health and spiritual well being, it’s ok to say “I love you, and I’m here, but I can’t keep putting myself in this place” and that’s ok. Just don’t give up praying and loving. Be ready when they do return, because you’ll need that love then, and it won’t just snap back if you’ve stopped loving while they were gone. Like the second son, you’ll be sitting out on the porch while the rest of the family celebrates.

It’s not easy. In fact, it’s often unbearably painful to lose someone you love by their own choice. But I want you to cling to hope. Pray Luke 15 for your family. Pray for your prodigal to return home, and trust that God is at work. Because He is.