Cartoons For My Book!

My friend, Eric Keba has drawn some interesting cartoons for my upcoming book, What If God Doesn't Really Love You? I want to show off some of them, so you can laugh as hard as I also laughed. I also want you to know that these cartoons alone will be worth the cost of the book when it comes out.

Click on the cartoons to enlarge

Thanks a lot Eric. You are an angel.

Where Is God?

I sat on the steps leading to the Uganda Martyrs’ Shrine. The whole place was crowded. It was my first time to come to this famous place in Namugongo, Uganda, on 3^rd June, the Uganda Martyrs’ day, a day when the Church remembers the martyrdom of the Uganda Martyrs for their religious zeal.

Earlier, I had tried to participate in the mass that was underway, but I realized that there were people who loved God more than I did and they had secured themselves all the vantage points. The only option I was left with was to sit in the sweltering heat and try listening to the proceedings from the mass on the speakers. Of course it was not as interesting as watching the men of God in their priestly colourful garb and the choir with dancing women. Soon, boredom kicked in and I welcomed it by looking around to find something to feed my active imagination.

I didn’t have to look further than the doors of the Shrine. They are heavy wooden doors on which the faces of the martyrs were sculpted. It is an impressive sight if you are a tourist, an artist or one who appreciates good art like I do. But this time, it was not the art that I was appreciating, because, a throng of pilgrims (did I tell you everyone around was supposedly a pilgrim?) were pressing against the doors.

Now this aroused my curiosity.

I stood up from the dusty steps, dusted my rear, and inched forward for a better look.

Most of the people pressing themselves against the door, I realized, were middle-aged and old men and women. They held handkerchiefs and rosaries which they rubbed against the faces of the martyrs. This intrigued me.

Then a gentleman left the bunch. It looked like he had wiped the martyrs’ faces long enough. I noticed that he had tears in his eyes. But it was not only tears. There was a look of desperation on his face.

As I looked at this middle-aged gentleman, dressed in non-descript trousers and a shirt, it dawned on me that this must not be his first time to wipe the faces of the sainted martyrs. And it looked like this time his faith was wavering. My heart went out to him. Whatever his problem was, he had faith in the intercession of the martyrs. And apparently, they had let him down a number of times. He hoped this time they would be considerate.

As the gentleman got lost in the crowd, my attention was drawn to another sight. This one was of a wooden sculpture of one older martyr (Matia Lwanga) baptizing a younger martyr (Kizito Omuto), most probably before their martyrdom. Many people surrounded this one too. They touched the sculpture with Rosaries and other pieces of clothing as they whispered memorized prayers.

One thing was common with all of them: there was desperation in their eyes.

I did not know any of the people around personally, but I could not help but guess the problems they had. That old lady holding a large rosary must be having a chronic illness. That slim gentleman must be suffering from acute poverty. Maybe the young lady over there had a problematic marriage. And who knew if that well-dressed woman at the corner with a plain countenance didn’t have a relative dying of cancer in an Indian hospital?

If God could only hear their pleas!

 Couldn’t a God of love see that they had suffered enough for whatever sins they had committed? I was even tempted to ask myself whether there can be a God who loves us, given the pain and suffering in the world. If he really was there, he was not showing it. For goodness’ sake, most of these people had made pilgrimages—that is, walked—from as far as Burundi to come and make their petitions through the sainted martyrs, again.

I am not very sure whether all of them received answers to their prayers. Maybe I’ll never know. But I was very sure that many of them were not making their prayers for the first time. The despondency on their faces showed that they had prayed over and over again and God either seemed not to hear them or was too busy doing other more important things.

It was a hopeless situation for most of them.

All I could do was wonder: where was God?

(Excerpt from What If God Doesn't Really Love You?)

How To Kiss Dusty Feet

The woman held an alabaster jar in her hands. It was sealed, but she knew the significance of the contents in it. The very expensive perfume encased therein had been given to her by her father. It was supposed to be her gift to the man she was to marry. However, the perfume still remained intact.

She knew why: no man wanted her. She was a woman of the night.

They only wanted her for a night, to satisfy their animal desires, but detested looking at her in the morning. Her fate was sealed, just like the alabaster box. She would never get married. That was a disgrace she would carry with her for the rest of her life. The jar was a continual reminder of that ugly fact.

She turned the jar in her hands, letting it catch reflections of the morning sun. Today she would let go of the perfume. She only prayed that her plan went well without any interruptions.

The street was noisy and the afternoon sun sweltering. She could not help but notice the pointing fingers and the whispers as she went down the street. She branched off into an alley, kicked rubbish out of her way and continued to the next street. She was almost at her destination.

Simon, the Pharisee was a superb host. His visitors came in large numbers and more often. Today, he was hosting the woman’s most wanted man. Jesus.

The woman stood across the street from the Simon’s home and waited for the courage to walk into the house. She could see through the doorway that the men were already reclined on the tables. Dinner was underway.

Men. Those were her biggest obstacle. She was not allowed to interrupt their meal. But now that she was already here, there was no use going back. Her alabaster jar would remain unbroken. And she would never be satisfied.

She crossed the street. Now a few feet lay between her and the threshold. She continued walking, her head held high, her gaze straightforward. She crossed the threshold. She was now inside. She could see all the men reclined on the table, eating and having small talk.

Suddenly, she was overcome by emotion. Tears started flowing down her face even as she walked closer to the man of her dreams. She barely noticed the silence that enveloped the room as all attention was turned towards her.

She stood behind Jesus. Her cries came out in low sobs. Then, slowly, she kneeled down and kissed his dusty feet. She wiped her wet face on them and wetted them with her tears. The tears continued to flow, like the floodgates of her soul had been ripped apart. She cried for the man she’d never have. She cried for the wrong choices she had made. She cried for joy. She cried for love for this one man.

She kissed the dirty feet again.

Then she wiped the feet with her hair.

Her heart was pounding. She knew any time hands would manhandle her and throw her out. She was totally disgracing herself, showing up in a room full of men, with her hair let down and naked. But she didn’t care. She was going to love on Jesus as long as it took.

The feet now looked clean. The woman got out her alabaster jar. She broke it and anointed his feet.

The fragrance filled the whole room.

She heard Simon clear his throat and mumble something.

Jesus said to him, "Simon, I have something to tell you."

"Oh? Tell me."

"Two men were in debt to a banker. One owed five hundred silver pieces, the other fifty. Neither of them could pay up, and so the banker canceled both debts. Which of the two would be more grateful?"

Simon answered, "I suppose the one who was forgiven the most."

"That's right," said Jesus.

Then turning to the woman, but speaking to Simon, he said, "Do you see this woman? I came to your home; you provided no water for my feet, but she rained tears on my feet and dried them with her hair. You gave me no greeting, but from the time I arrived she hasn't quit kissing my feet. You provided nothing for freshening up, but she has soothed my feet with perfume. Impressive, isn't it? She was forgiven many, many sins, and so she is very, very grateful. If the forgiveness is minimal, the gratitude is minimal."

Then he spoke to her: "I forgive your sins." (Luke 7:40-48 The Message)

(Excerpt from What If God Doesn't Really Love You?)

Have you experienced such forgiveness -- so much forgiveness -- that made you want to kiss Jesus' dusty feet?

Losing Touch With Reality

Benjamin saw the swaying truck a few seconds late. He rammed on the brakes of his Subaru. The swish-swash of the windshield wipers seemed to slow their wiping off of the large drops of the rain. Benjamin exerted more force on the brakes. The car could not stop in time.

The truck kept coming. It was only ten feet away now. Its driver had lost control of it.

The rain continued to pour down in large torrents.

Benjamin swerved to the left to prevent a head-on collision. His actions were mechanical, his mind gripped with fear.

He slammed on the brakes one more time and the Subaru skidded on the rain-slicked tarmac.

The honking of the truck's horn deafened Benjamin. The truck was now five feet away.

Benjamin panicked.

The Subaru stopped, facing the left side of the road. Benjamin could now see the truck from his side window. Its headlights blinded him.

The truck was four feet away.

Benjamin fumbled with his seatbelt.

Three feet.

"God!" he shouted. His seatbelt was stuck.

Two feet.

"Jesus!"

He yanked his seatbelt free.

Too late.

A gut-wrenching scream erupted from his throat as the truck collided with the Subaru. The last thing Benjamin heard was the crunching of bones and the crushing of metal.

The man woke up to the glare of lights and machines and computer consoles around him. Tubes protruded from his body. Wherever he was, he didn’t know. And now, thinking about it, he didn’t know who he was.

There was a sharp pain in his head. He touched it and felt the bandage wrapped around his head.

He really didn’t know who he was.

A face appeared in his line of vision. A beautiful woman.

“Hello dear,” she said.

Whatever! He didn’t care. What he wanted to do now was to get up and find out who he was — really was — and why he was here.

“Benjamin, dear,” said the beautiful woman, “are you ok?”

Couldn’t she see that there was no way he could be fine? And was that his name?

Benjamin.

Yes, that must be his name.

Have you ever had moments when you really wondered who you really are, why in the world you do what you do, or where you are going? Is your life like a fatal accident that sometimes leaves you a hopeless amnesiac?

You are not alone. There are very many people just like you, who function like normal human beings, go to work or school, eat and sleep, but think like they are amnesiacs. All of them have this one similarity: they have lost touch with reality.

 (exerpt from my upcoming book, What If God Doesn't Really Love You)

What Happened To Justice?

Court was in session. Judge Elohim was presiding.

The evidence had been presented. Both sides had had their chance to plead their case before the Judge.

The accused, a fierce looking giant of a man, looked as guilty as he really was. His heavily tattooed body gave him the look of a seasoned drug dealer and user. His face was contorted in a permanent scowl and his nose was turned up like he always smelt something foul in the air. The flimsy vest he wore couldn’t hide his muscled torso. He was surrounded by an aura of raw, physical energy.

The defence counsel, a thirtyish-looking gentleman of Asian origin, stood beside him, exuding a confidence you wouldn’t expect him to have, since the evidence prosecution had presented was highly incriminating and convincing. There was no way the accused was getting off the hook.

It was now time to wrap up the case. Both sides were to give their last remarks before the ruling was made.

Jeremy Doom, the prosecutor, rose at the prompting of the judge and presented his last remarks. He was a middle-aged, slim man whose slyness made him famous in Judge Elohim’s court. He never lost a case. No one knew where he always got his evidence, but he always had enough evidence to convince the Judge. This case was a piece of pie for him.

“Your honour, the accused before you here has been charged with kidnapping a twelve year old girl, raping her and slicing her throat.”

Doom walked back to his desk and produced a set of photographs and other documents. He waved them over his head for all to see.

“You have seen the photographs that were taken at the crime scene which, conveniently, is the residence of the accused. You have also seen the DNA report which shows that the DNA of the seminal fluids got from the victim matches that of the defendant. Our forensic pathologist never goes wrong, your honour.

“This man standing before you is not a normal human being. He doesn’t deserve to live among us. His conscience is so seared that he can’t even feel any remorse for his deeds. Your honour, our children can never be safe with such a man roaming in our community.

“I rest my case, your honour.”

Doom turned and looked at the people who filled the courtroom. He wanted to make sure that every press camera caught his face as he drilled the last nail into the defendant’s coffin. He then walked slowly and purposefully back to his seat, leaving the courtroom in a deathly silence.

The silence lingered on for a moment. It was uneasy.

Judge Elohim looked at the defence counsel, studying him for any hint of fear or cowardice.

“Mr. Jesus,” he said, “you last remarks.”

The defence counsel stood up. He raised a tome over his head and waved it the same way Doom had waved his evidence. There were a few chuckles from the audience as they took it to be a joke.

“Your honour, in my hand is the Penal Code. I have pored over this book for the last few days. I have read it from cover to cover and I haven’t found one single law that my client has broken.”

Doom was on his feet in a second, also waving his copy of the Penal Code. “That can’t be true! My Penal Code has over five rules that your client has broken! He must be prosecuted!”

“ENOUGH!” Judge Elohim bellowed, glaring at Doom. “I won’t have you hold my court in contempt!”

“I am sorry your honour.”

“Mr. Jesus, proceed.”

Jesus put the book down. “Your honour, this edition of the Penal Code that I have with me is a revision of the old one that Mr. Doom has. Mr. Doom’s version was replaced and rendered obsolete a few years ago. The laws governing this country are now different.

“Your honour, I, Jesus, paid the ultimate sacrifice for all the crimes of my client even before he committed them. My sacrifice was strong enough that there was no more need for a law. That is why there is now no law to convict my client.”

Jesus seemed to have grown taller as his voice took on a more authoritative tone. He picked up the tome again, opened it up and raised it for all to see.

“The pages of this book are blank, your honour. They are not blank because words have never been written on them. No, your honour. They are blank because my blood—my blood!—wiped away the handwriting that was against my client. There is therefore now no condemnation for him because he is in me. My client is not guilty!”

With that, Jesus sat down.

A sigh went out in the audience. People were letting out breaths they had held for so long.

Judge Elohim looked visibly troubled. He gestured for both Jesus and Doom to approach the bench. When they reached, he asked in a low voice, “Doom, did you know about this?”

Doom tilted his head and shrugged.

Judge Elohim turned to Jesus, “Why didn’t you bring up this evidence at the beginning of the trial?”

“I wanted to first see how far Doom could go with his lies, your honour. And I must admit I enjoyed watching him getting deflated after having deceived himself that he had won the case before even hearing your verdict.”

“What makes you think my verdict will be in your favour, Jesus?” Judge Elohim asked.

Jesus smiled. “I guess you don’t have any other option.”

“Gentlemen,” Judge Elohim said, looking from one man to the other, “you may now go and take your seats.”

Judge Elohim waited for them to take their seats before declaring, “Given the evidence before me, court is adjourned for one hour. I’ll come back to make my ruling then.”

Judge Elohim stood up and exited the courtroom.

(Excerpt from my upcoming book, What if God Doesn't Really Love You?)

DOES GOD REALLY LIKE YOU?

There was a guy in the Old Testament who never died. Forget about Elijah. This one was Enoch. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve never heard about him. Reason: nothing much was written about him. He did not cause a revolution or revival. He did not part a sea, river, or milk in his cereal bowl. He did not heal anyone. All that is written about him is his family. He most probably was a stay-at-home dad. Let’s look at the 7 bible verses that talk about Enoch in Genesis:

When Jared was 162 years old, he had Enoch. After he had Enoch, he lived another 800 years, having more sons and daughters. Jared lived a total of 962 years. And he died.

When Enoch was sixty-five years old, he had Methuselah. Enoch walked steadily with God. After he had Methuselah, he lived another 300 years, having more sons and daughters. Enoch lived a total of 365 years.

Enoch walked steadily with God. And then one day he simply was gone: God took him. (Genesis 5:18-24)

Isn’t it interesting that all that the bible recorded about Enoch’s spirituality was that he walked steadily with God?

He did not walk around with his head in the skies, with this glazed look like he was holier than the pope. He did not turn water into wine. He wasn’t praying all the time, since he had time to father some kids. Trust me, if he did anything that was quite spectacular, we would have known about it, since he was not quite normal (a guy who gets taken by God is not normal, is he?)

If he had a secret, it was the fact that he steadily walked with God.

I don’t think I am qualified enough to start debating what walking steadily with God really is. I only have suggestions. Could it be that he always walked around with a perpetual knowledge of how much God loved him? He most probably had a special relationship with God to where God was a buddy (you don’t walk around with a stranger, you know). I don’t think it was his behaviour, good looks or cologne. But it is a fact that Enoch was very pleasing to God. See for yourself:

By an act of faith, Enoch skipped death completely. “They looked all over and couldn’t find him because God had taken him.” We know on the basis of reliable testimony that before he was taken “he pleased God.” It’s impossible to please God apart from faith… (Hebrews 11:5-6)

It was that simple! The guy believed that he pleased God! “Oh, come on, Paul,” I can hear you say, “This guy must have done some mighty acts of faith to please God!”

Beats me too! This guy was so pleasing to God that one day God just couldn’t contain his pleasure any more. God got tired of seeing Enoch from down below. “I must have you at once in heaven,” he must have told Enoch. “My only problem is that you have failed to die. So I guess I’ll just steal you from your family”

And lo and behold, there was no funeral for old Enoch.

But still, nothing significant was written about him. You will not find his name in a Sunday school textbook. No. Kids are not allowed to have bible role models who did nothing but ended up leaving no tombstone on earth.

It is also interesting to note that Enoch’s dad, Jared, lived almost three times as old as Enoch. So he must have looked around for his son, only to be told, “Sorry, he got too pleasing to God to live on earth.”

This really tells us of how much God loves us. God couldn’t wait for death to take Enoch before he could have a piece of him. And he really doesn’t have pleasure in killing people just so he can have them in heaven. If you ever get so pleasing to God and you know it, your photo will also be put in the papers under the title: LOST. The story will go somehow like this: “The person in the photo above got lost. He was last seen in the company of God. There is a great reward for whoever finds him, though it is highly unlikely, since he was so pleasing to God. You all know what happened to Enoch…”

I am very sure that is the same with us now. God wants us to be so wrapped up in him, so steadily walking with him, that one day, his front door will be closer than ours and he will say, “Why don’t you spend the night?”

Don’t ask me, but I don’t think I would want to go back home after spending a night in God’s house.

(Excerpt from my upcoming book, What if God Doesn't Really Love You?)

THE SCANDAL OF GRACE (PART 2)

How can someone take all the money, get out and waste it living like the devil and then come back home and not get even the slightest rebuke? It bothers us. It all boils down to what we expect of God.

If we expect God to be mad at the sinners, we will be mad at God and the sinners for being so happy, yet when we were trying to be good people, no one seemed to notice.

That is what happened to the brother of the guy in our story. He was the good son. He never asked for any privileges. He never left home. He was always obedient and respectful.

But he couldn’t attend his brother’s party.

It was a scandal!

Now if you were to ask me who I’d rather be, of the two sons, I’ll tell you quite frankly that I would rather be the younger one.

You see, the older son was so busy trying to please his father that he failed to receive the father’s love. His strict adherence to the rules blinded him to the fact that after the father had divided his inheritance into two on the day the younger son left, all that remained was his, and the father had remained with nothing. It was simple maths. If your father divided his property into two, and gave half to your younger brother, the other half would automatically be yours! I’ll sue my maths teacher if such mathematics is preposterous!

Unfortunately, the older son kept on working to receive what he already had. I must admit that he had a little more integrity than his younger brother since he didn’t run away from home. But he still missed the big picture.

That is how grace can get scandalous. And we can only choose one of two sides of the coin.

When you choose to allow the father’s love for you to be demonstrated, you will have people criticise you, especially well-meaning Christians. But when you listen long enough to them, you will realise that they are people who have gotten offended by God’s grace.

They are the good guys who never get anything they pray for, even when God keeps telling them, “What I have is yours.”

So when they see you simply reach out and enjoy God’s love, it doesn’t go down well with them. When they see you being blessed more and more independent of your actions, they start doubting your salvation and start saying that maybe you got stuff from the devil and not from God.

They are the kind of people who would rather work hard enough for their inheritance than receive. And here is the problem with their theology: if it is earned, it is not an inheritance! You only need to think a little with your brain to know that one is born into an inheritance and cannot earn it.

These people remind me of Martha, Jesus’ friend. Jesus paid Martha and her sister, Mary, a visit. Martha, good host that she was, went around preparing meals and trying to make Jesus’ stay at her house a comfortable one.

Mary, on the other hand, sat at the feet of Jesus and listened to him. She must have been the younger of the two sisters, and the lazier. Martha must have become overwhelmed by the amount of work she had to do, given the fact that this was first century Palestine, where there were no kitchen equipments that simplified work like food processors and mixers. So she came to Jesus and complained, "Master, don't you care that my sister has abandoned the kitchen to me? Tell her to lend me a hand." (Luke 10:40)

Jesus, ever so gentle, replied, “Martha, dear Martha, you're fussing far too much and getting yourself worked up over nothing. One thing only is essential, and Mary has chosen it — it's the main course, and won't be taken from her."

All Martha needed to do was relax and take life a little more simply.

That was how Mary was. And that is what got her into Martha’s bad books.

I am also reminded of a group of people Jesus had problems with when he was on earth. They were known as Pharisees. They always adhered to Moses’ law to the best of their abilities. So they expected this young teacher from Nazareth who had just come on the scene to be in their camp. Surely they were good enough to deserve his company.

And Jesus went and dined with the most notorious and infamous people of the day, like Zaccheus and Matthew, who later became his disciple. They were tax collectors, despised and hated for their shrewd dealings with the Romans.

To make matters worse, Jesus not only hung out with the outcasts but also broke the law. That’s right! He did not honour the Sabbath day. He was a bad influence to society and made the Pharisees look bad. No wonder he got himself killed.

There was no way the Pharisees could receive Jesus’ love. He offended them over and over again.

If you think the Pharisees’ clan died and became extinct in the first century, think again.

Today they can be anything from your pastor to your mother; from your boss to your child.

They are the people who tell you:

 “You are putting too much emphasis on God’s love.”

“You are not saying anything about obedience!!”

“Who will get the work done around here?”

“That’s cheap grace you are preaching!”

“If only you could get some ministry done instead of sitting around and telling us how loved of God you are!”

However, I challenge you today to purpose not to listen to any propaganda that is not from God. Let God shower you with his love and grace, and choose not to deserve any of it.

You never have to worry about doing any work. All the work gets done with time, because it is God who does the work himself. It is not up to you to try to work out your own salvation with fear and trembling. Yes, God expects you to work out your salvation with fear and trembling, but he doesn’t expect you to do it in your own strength or energy. “That energy is God's energy, an energy deep within you, God himself willing and working at what will give him the most pleasure.” (Philippians 2:13)

(Excerpt from my upcoming book, What if God Doesn't Really Love You? coming soon!)

The Scandal of Grace

The young man drew doodles in the mud with a stick. Each line he drew disappeared in a second. He laughed at the irony of it all. Those lines were just like his life. Everything about him was superficial and never lasted.

Like the riches he had inherited from his father.

Yes. He was once rich.

But he was now drawing lines in stinking mud mixed with pig poop.

Another reason as to why he had found doodling interesting was the fact that he had nothing else to do. He could not stop to think about how hungry he was. It only made the hunger more painful.

He doodled a little faster. He did not want to see the reflection of his face in the mud. It reminded him of how thin and malnourished he now looked.

Nearby, the pigs snorted and fought for food. He looked at them. They looked much better than him, a rich man’s son. And here he was dying.

He tired of doodling in the mud. The mud stilled.

His face stared back at him. Suddenly, a longing for home hit him.

For the first time, he saw the foolishness of leaving his father and brother. He saw the futility of living life without his father’s love and protection. Looking around, he felt utter hopelessness embrace him. This was the edge of the world. One step from where he was and he would have stepped into oblivion.

His imagination conjured up the taste of well-done steak he had long forgotten. His dried, parched throat could not remember the beautiful sensation of having deep red wine flowing down it.

Warm tears ran down his cheeks.

Unbeknownst to the young man, one hundred miles away, an old man sat in a rocking chair on the front porch of his mansion. He was more distraught than the young man. He had everything he could ever want in this life. He was as rich as anyone can get. Servants obeyed him. Business associates respected him. The society bowed before him.

This man was the young man’s father.

Oh, that he could give anything to get back his son.

The day his son left many years ago was still fresh in his mind. It was like it had happened only yesterday.

The nightmare had begun when the son had come to the father with a humble request. “I would like my share of the inheritance, father.”

They were at the lake fishing. They actually didn’t need the fish. It was just a sport, a perfect excuse for father to be with son.

The father’s eyes narrowed. “Do you know what you are asking for, son?”

“Yes. I’ve thought about it for over a year now. I want to go and see the world for myself. I am tired of living on this estate and having everything done for me.”

“Don’t you like it here?” the father asked, concern etched in his voice.

“Of course I like it, but there must be something I am missing. I want to go and have some fun out there in the world.”

No amount of cajoling could stop the old man’s younger son. So the old man was forced to call his lawyer the next day. Everything was settled. The young son got his inheritance and off he went.

The sun was setting and its rays were making the sky look beautiful. But the old man did not see beauty. He saw a road that would lead his son back home one day. He kept rocking in the rocking chair as he let his day dream bring tears to his eyes.

But then he saw. Yes, his eyes were still filled with tears over the loss of his son, but he was very sure that what he saw in the distance was his son coming back home. He stood up from his chair and climbed down the porch steps so he could see clearly.

It was not the first time he had seen someone coming and thought it was his son. Many a times he had run out only to realise it was a stranger, or a guest, but not his son. He knew it was a disgrace. A person of his age and stature did not participate in the indignities of running.

Whoever this was that was coming to his home, he hoped it was his son, and as he had done all the other times, he broke out into a jog.

Then he ran.

As he drew closer, he started doubting his eyes. What he saw was a young lad – too young to be his son – in tatters. His hair was unkempt and his face was caked in mud.

The figure before him stopped.

He also stopped.

It dawned on him.  This was his son come home. No, he was not as well as he had left, but that was his son, nevertheless. That is when he ran again.

Two people met. One embraced the other. Another had his hands at his side.

“Father, I have sinned against you...” the son started to say.

But the father, in a loud voice, proclaimed, “Somebody prepare a party! This, my son, was lost, but has now come home!”

And the party began.

(Excerpt from my upcoming book, What if God Doesn't Really Love You?)