Today, I walked home for lunch, and Peter was playing the front yard with Momma Bear. He had just picked up a little branch, and was carrying it back to the house when his mother pointed down the street. "Look! It's Daddy!"
"And while I was still at a distance," the son took off running to meet the father...and it almost undid me. When a little boy of 2.75 years starts running toward you in that herky-jerky, still kind of a toddler way, giggling, smiling, waving the triumphant branch...wow. There is no way you can feel worthy of the excitement in a little boy's eyes. It is a look that will convict you of every past misdeed, every trace of sin, every bad word you ever uttered, every impure thought you've ever entertained.
So when we met up I said, "I have sinned against heaven and before you, and am no longer worthy to be called your father." And the son embraced the father, and the father embraced the son. And we walked home together.
We're having a fatted calf for dinner tonight. Would you like to join us? It's going to be a party.