Dear Reader,

Are there lessons in the teachings of Jesus that kind of sit sideways in your schema? Lessons you’ve tried to look at from various perspectives, and still walk away shaking your head? Maybe it was a matter of culture shock, not having the downlow on how things were done in a time and place far removed from our own. And maybe, once or twice, or maybe a lot more times, you’ve wished you knew the rest of the story in the parables Jesus used to teach with.

How many times have we read or heard a sermon about the prodigal son? Yeah, I know, so many that it’s easy to tune out, at least that’s what I’ve done for decades.

But God’s been showing me this last year to slow down in studying His Word because there’s so much I’ve been missing.

Please don’t click off the page, Dear Reader. Maybe God showed me something that you could also use.

Just so we’re all up to speed, younger son demands his share of Dad’s property, promptly hits the road and squanders it. Comes home, Dad’s thrilled beyond all of Junior’s hopes . . . older bro, not so much.

A few days passed and this younger son gathered all his wealth and set off on a journey to a distant land. Once there he wasted everything he owned on wild living . . . So he got up and returned to his father. The father looked off in the distance and saw the young man returning. He felt compassion for his son and ran out to him, enfolded him in an embrace, and kissed him.

luke 15:13,20 VOICE

Of course, that’s all great for the younger son and demonstrates a poignant picture of our Heavenly Father’s abundant grace. But, Dear Reader, what if you’re not the younger son and haven’t trucked off to indulge in “wild living?” Where does that leave you, where does that leave us? I’m the youngest in birth order for my fam, but definitely the older in attitude.

The older brother got really angry and refused to come inside, so his father came out and pleaded with him to join the celebration.  But he argued back, “Listen, all these years I’ve worked hard for you. I’ve never disobeyed one of your orders. But how many times have you even given me a little goat to roast for a party with my friends? Not once! This is not fair! 

luke 15:28-29 voice

I know we all need to be reassured about God’s unfailing grace and mercy at times, but seems like preachers sometimes stop at the happy reunion between Dad and Junior, and dismiss the angst of the tried and true 0lder son. Whenever the sermon told the rest of the story about the older son, I was cheering him on from the pew.

You know, Dear Reader, we all have a story. Please indulge me while I share some of mine.

It was the 1970s. My brother, Buddy, was two years older than me. In high school, while Buddy was out drinking and smoking (illegal) marijuana, I was going to Youth for Christ rallies and small group Bible studies.

After Buddy graduated from high school he worked at a gas station while continuing his love affair with liquor. Mama worked evenings, so I got to do housewifey stuff like laundry and fixing supper.

At least once a week, when his friend, Albie, poured Buddy into the house I got to put his big ole 6’5″ ugly self to bed, hoping he didn’t puke in it and me have to clean it up again.

Is this scenario familiar to anyone else?

Before you think this is a “poor me” story, just wait.

Buddy continued his life style, and I continued mine. I met the love of my life in the young adult Sunday School class, and come this March we’ll be marking our 50th (What! How did that happen?) wedding anniversary. Tom and I were active in church where we’d met, but once in a great while we’d miss Sunday service. Guess who’s butt Daddy was ragging about missing church? It sure wasn’t Buddy who was laid up in the bed sleeping off Saturday night.

The father said to him, ‘Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours.

luke 15:31 Amp

This is embarassing to admit. You’d think after being a Christ-follower for multiple decades, I would have understood the rest of the story long before now.

When I read this account from Luke’s Gospel recently, I thought about those years from a new perspective. My older brother and sister always had excuses for not being in church that Daddy seemed to readily accept, but what was lost along the way?

Daddy and I talked and fussed about everything. The war in Viet Nam, church politics, the right time to have kids, how to raise kids, why it was important to vote . . . I miss those conversations, but I don’t grieve for them since Daddy’s passing.

What I grieve for is not realizing at the time that he shared all that was his with me. And I grieve for the conversations my siblings likely missed.

Here is my rest of the story: it’s never too late to realize and enjoy the treasures of the older son that have been there all along.