In her life, my grandmother has tried many tactics to get the love she longs for from her family. She'll throw a fit at my brother's ballgame to draw attention. She will show up unannounced on doorsteps. Many Christmases I've received a set of "Thank You" notes under her tree. She is generous; and often that generosity comes with fine print. She works very hard in all the wrong ways to get the affection she's so desperate for.
All my life she's been like a woman holding a handful of water, not understanding that the tighter she grips, the more drips away; rather than having more control, she only has less of it to hold.
My grandmother is an intelligent and well-read woman who has been in church almost every single Sunday of her life. I have no doubt that she's read and heard and been taught the story of the prodigal son many times. And I wish so badly that she could've really listened to it and heard what the story had to say about who God is.
There's one specific instance I know that illustrates her lack of understanding:
It was my father's third year at Ohio State that he met and began dating my mother. After the school year ended, she invited my father to come down and stay for a while in Florida at her father's home. My grandmother was against this arrangement from the start. On the day of my father's flight, she barricaded the second car in front of the driveway and hid the keys in order to keep him from going to the airport. Of course, my father called a friend to drive him and went anyways. Later that month, I was unintentionally conceived.
The prodigal son did far worse with less resistance. After telling his dad to "drop dead" by cashing in early on his inheritance, the prodigal son walked right out the front door and through the unlocked wrought iron gate. There was no car blocking the driveway; his father let him go.
I have no doubt that if there were a gate at my grandmother's house that day, it would've been locked (interestingly, the manner of exit didn't stop either son from doing what he wanted). So why did the God-figure in the parable leave the gate unlocked? Out of trust - did he not think his son would leave? No - it was respect for his son's free will. Unless he could choose to leave, it didn't mean anything if he stayed.
That unlocked gate has taught me much about the great value of free will. I think about it when I want to drag a friend kicking and screaming into the right decision, and am reminded that it's not mine to decide. The times I am angry when God doesn't force someone to do the best or right thing, I think of that freely-swinging gate. As I've learned before, God wants to be chosen - enough to allow people to not choose him. So who am I to choose for them when even the Almighty does not?
I've also seen that it remains unlocked, no matter which side of it you are on - an equally difficult lesson. When the prodigal son came back with pig's food smeared on his chin, the gate was still open then. And his father was watching the road from the kitchen window. He gave his son freedom, even at great cost and injury, but he waits at the window and hopes.
God is not so foolish to try and control us for our love. As a shepherd, he doesn't pen the sheep in - they willingly follow the sound of his voice. And as a father, he leaves the gate unlocked. I hope my Nana sees that next time she thumbs through the book of Luke; she would find her hands much fuller if she learned from Him to relax her grip.
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