I'm coming home.

By no means do I claim to be a P-Diddy fan or follower, but his song "Coming Home" came on the radio this morning on my way to church (which I haven't attended in months, by the way) and it struck something deep within me. The chorus goes as such:

I’m coming home
I’m coming home
Tell the World I’m coming home
Let the rain wash away all the pain of yesterday
I know my kingdom awaits and they’ve forgiven my mistakes
I’m coming home, I’m coming home
Tell the World that I’m coming

Home is such a complex concept. I mean, really, what--or where--is home? If you asked someone to describe what they would define as being home, it certainly wouldn't be the same as the next person. It's different to everyone. Some people call home the place they were born and raised. For others, who may have been subjected to moving every couple of years growing up for a parents job might call home their favorite place they lived. For others still, home is simply where they are surrounded by friends and family, regardless of location. Regardless of what, or where, home is, when we tell someone we're going home there is an unspoken understanding that it is a place of peace, joy, and comfort.

There's a story about going home in the Bible. It's the story of the prodigal son. I'll give you a quick summary, in case you've never heard of it. A father has two sons--the younger of the two asks his father for his inheritance, so the father gives it to him. The son then proceeds to pack up all of his things and leave his home with his new found inheritance, and spends all the money his father had given him in a foreign and distant land. He ends up so broke that he takes a job tending to fields and cleaning up after pigs, becoming so hungry he is willing to eat the pigs food (and i'm not talking about bacon). He decides he has had enough of living this way and rather be a slave to his own father, therefore he heads home. The scripture reads,

"When he was still a long way off, his father saw him. His heart pounding, he ran out, embraced him, and kissed him. The son began to say, 'Father, I've sinned against God, I've sinned against you, and I don't deserve to be called your son ever again'. But the father wasn't listening. He was calling to the servants, 'Quick, bring a clean set of clothes and dress him...get the finest pig we have to roast him...we're going to have a feast! My son is here--given up for dead and now alive! Given up for lost and now found!"
--Luke 15:20-24

This story has a much deeper and personal meaning to me than a lot of people. In many ways, it is MY story.  "When he was still a long way off, his father SAW him", as if he were deliberately standing on the front porch pacing back and forth wondering when his son might return home. "His heart pounding, he ran out, embraced him, and kissed him", can you imagine a better 'welcome home' than that? And as the son stood there being welcomed back to a place he just up and left without regard to the friends or family he left behind, he begins apologizing. "BUT THE FATHER WASN'T LISTENING", wait, what? Did you catch that? His dad couldn't have cared less about what he did or didn't have to say. His son was home. His pride and joy, his world, his baby boy, had finally returned home--NOTHING ELSE MATTERED.

I haven't been paying much attention to God the last few months. Not like I should be. I walked into church this morning not knowing what to expect. Would I feel guilty? Would God begin telling me off? Would people know I hadn't been to church in months and wonder why all of a sudden I decided to go? Would they know I didn't really belong? Who was I, an outsider, to try and pretend to be one of them? A sinner among saints. A crimson stain among the snow.

And then came a still soft voice.

"Welcome home".

And like the prodigal son I thought, but I'm so unworthy. I am SO unworthy to be called your daughter. But He didn't listen. "I've missed you, and I've never stopped loving you. I KNEW you'd come home"

Home can mean a lot of things. It can be a place, people, or memories, and it's different for everyone. But there is one Home we all have in common. One Home where we will always be welcome. No matter how long it's been, or how far we've strayed, our Dad waits for us to come Home.

It's time for some changes. It's time for letting go. It's time for me to go home.