On Monday, I attended a monthly Board meeting of a non-profit that I help lead. At the start of the meeting, with the holiday season in mind, our executive director gave each of us, as board members, a Christmas tree ornament. And, it cracked my soul in half.
The ornament depicted two brothers. One of them was in football gear, with his back to us, standing and watching the other brother. The second brother sat in a circle with other boys, leading a Bible study and helping them build a meaningful relationship with Jesus Christ.
The contrast was striking. The artist’s imagery highlighted the differences between their actions, with the football brother uncertain and the ministry brother leading others, underscoring the message of faith and choices.
“Looks like your boys,” said a close friend and fellow board member. He knew my story of having a lost son and had prayed with me for the football brother for years. I could only manage a single chuckle. His words could not have been truer.
The creator of that ornament must know my story. My oldest boy was once a dedicated football player. He attended a Christian, faith-based school, and he had certainly seen, if not sat in on, group Bible studies like the one in the image. Yet, I never heard him talk about attending a faith-based huddle with other athletes. My youngest is a full-time youth minister, spending 40 to 80 hours a week involved in youth ministry. What he does often looks exactly like the ornament, with or without his brother watching.
The imagery invokes sadness. In my story, the football brother graduated, returned home, and anchored himself in building a career and a new family. On the outside, it seems almost admirable. Alas, I seldom saw him at church, and if I did, he didn’t approach me.
A few months ago, I heard from him for the first time in nearly two years. I had hoped he was ready to take ownership of his historical failings-the prodigal has returned! He is about to admit he did wrong, apologize, and humbly vow to make things right. Perhaps a year ago, I mailed him his youth Bible. It had his name on it, as well as some pages that he had chosen to keep. He and I had read it together more than once. Perhaps he was about to announce that he had received it and began to read it. I was excited.
Instead, he asked about getting money from me.
My dearest friends who know all the details didn’t have words to comfort me, except to tell me to wait.
I closed the email and looked up at the ceiling, seeking some consolation. I looked to my left and saw a picture of my youngest son and me, riding bikes in Spain. That young man could not be more different. After he finished school, he didn’t run home. Instead, he committed himself full-time to the Christian mission field and now lives in Flagstaff, AZ, thousands of miles from home. He works at a growing church and tells stories about what God is doing. He inspires.
Yet even the pride I felt in Alex cannot hide the shame I feel for my children. The younger one has come home to see his mother, brother, and me many times over the six years he has been away; his brother, true to character, has never once gone to see him.
I hate this chapter of the book, especially as I near the end of the story. It is part of a bad yet honest ending.
Yet, I cannot underestimate the power of a living God. Redemption is always possible, even when it seems so far away. Please pray for the oldest; let him spend time looking in the mirror and seeing not how he looks but how God wants him to look.
Until he does, the younger brother will continue to serve the Lord and perhaps set the example for the other brother to join in the huddle.
