In celebration of Father's Day today, let me share with you my reflection on the book, The Return Of The Prodigal Son.
People often say that “there is no place like home.” It is so because it is in the home where
we find genuine and unconditional
love. However, home does not necessarily
mean a place where our biological family is.
It is rather a life of affection expressed by people to each other. Thus, wherever one feels loved and protected,
there is one’s home.
This seemed to be the tenor
of Henri J.M. Nouwen book entitled, The
Return Of The Prodigal Son. The
author’s encounter with Rembrandt’s painting, The Return Of The Prodigal Son, which is based on the well revered biblical parable had made him to come to terms
with himself. Indeed, Rembrandt had a homecoming after recapturing the message of
The Parable Of The Prodigal Son through his painting, Nouwen, after probing on
Rembrandt’s artwork through his book and
myself, after reading Nouwen’s book through my reflection.
Life is a journey. Every
person is a sojourner. The Prodigal Son
is a story of the journey of a father, of a son and of a brother. Rembrandt had
his own pilgrimage. So are Nouwen and me.
This paper contains my reflection on Nouwen’s book and a chronicle
of my own journey as a son to my parents, a son to my God, a brother to my fellow
Christians and a father to my children.
The Older Brother in Me
I am the older
son in the family of two. Growing up, my
parents saw me as the kinder, smarter
and more responsible kid than my brother.
I learned to live up to that image.
I was too kind to refuse a person’s
request and needs. I find it difficult to say no to anybody.
I remember when I was a grade
five student, my teacher asked us to
draw a picture of a national hero on a piece of paper. Because I have the talent in drawing, almost
half of my class begged me to draw for
them. And the good boy obliged without
any complaint. In my mind, I was the
better hero to my classmates than the hero that I drew.
During playtime, I
always play the underdog. This is the
reason why I have not developed fondness of sports. It feels like heaven when winning but hell seeing the sad eyes of my losing opponent.
Another
characteristic that I developed to further support my good boy image is my refusal to ask
anything for myself. I feel embarrass to
do it. I hate being a liability to others. I remember how my grandmother noticed and commended
that attitude of mine. She said that I
am different from my cousins who are always thinking of what to ask from her.
The Older Brother in my
Christianity
I was seventeen years old and a fourth year high school student when
my classmate shared to me about the gift of salvation of God. The message of the cross was clearly
explained to me. My prayer of acceptance
was sincere. But the “older brother” in
me was carried over to my Christianity.
I strongly believed that God loves me so much. But I also tried to buy God’s love. I put an effort to deserve God’s love. I
mistook God to the people who I need to please and prove that I am the better person. Major part of my Christian life is spent
earning the nod of God. I tried to prove
that I deserve the gift of salvation God has given me.
This kind of Christian outlook put me into long period of guilt and self
condemnation whenever I fell short of God’s standard. I feel guilty by not praying all the time and
by not reading the Bible religiously. I feel like God is blaming and frowning at my
failure. Likewise, I don’t give much
allowance to other Christians’ mistakes.
If they cannot measure to my standards, I regard them as unfaithful. I
always thought of leaving my church for a better church whenever I see my
brothers and sisters in faith do not walk according to how I walk as a
Christian.
I was proud of my
conservative Christianity. I also lived
with the idea that spirituality can be experienced through spiritual discipline
like payer and Bible study. That there
are Christian music and demonic music as well.
I am a modern Pharisee who has nothing to do with the alcoholics, drug
dependents and sexually immoral persons.
Fatherhood Became Me
I got married and had three
children. Family life was a welcome
development to me. I was not a perfect
husband and father but I am the best
that my family got. I have been a hands-on-dad. I had no problem doing domestic chores. But just like most men, family is not my
ultimate goal. The desire for individual
fulfillment oftentimes permeate to my heart and mind. I was in the course of finding ways to
realize the fulfillment of my dreams when tragedy struck to our family.
My wife had a severe hypertension
and died after three days of hospital confinement. I was really devastated. I felt like a bird with broken wings when I lose her. I felt as if my
world stopped turning when she was gone.
With three little children left to me, the sight of the future was
so bleak. There were times I felt not
having a home to go to after spending a day outside. Life was so simple when
she was still around. And so I was
thinking of a better life for all of us.
But her sudden death endangered
our simple life and threatened my quest for a better life. People around me had nothing but pity on me
and on my children. They even doubt if I
can bring up my children and send them to school. They were right. I was really pitiful that time. It will indeed be tough to be a single father
of three. But sympathy is what they can
only offer to me. My in-laws, my own
parents and relatives could not afford
to help me financially. They were hard up too. In the
end, my life as a widower was my own
battle to fight. There were so many
things running in my mind as far as bringing
up my children is concern. “How can I
raise my three children alone? Where can
I get the money to feed three mouths?
What about my own dreams? What
about my own life? Will I live my remaining years merely fathering my
children?” These were hard
questions. Questions that do not have
ready answers. Tough question with scary
answers.
 |
| Amos, Amiel Adrian and Amen Learn |
Acceptance of my
life as a single parent was not easy. On
the outside I appeared alright but on the inside, I was full of resentment
because of the responsibility that my wife left to me.
Years passed, I met
my would be second wife. She got
pregnant. We got married. The demands
for my paternal responsibility increased.
I was still overcoming my deep seated resentment when another child
came. I felt inadequate and exhausted as
a father. My wife knew it. She was disappointed and hurt. Our relationship was shaky.
I was then a father
who longed to have a rest like a child in the arms of a father. And God gave me peace … a peace of mind. God made me realized that there is no problem
living my whole life as a father. He
taught me that “fatherhood is also a calling.”
Divine calling it is. I felt so
enlightened knowing that Abraham’s calling was to be a father. He was not called to be a professional or
artistic person. He was destined to be a
father. From then on, there was no
longer regrets in raising all my children.
 |
| Aiah Dasha and Aiehn Deosjua |
My seeming divine
enlightenment does not mean that I am living a problem free life. The battle against resentment in rearing my
children have long gone from my heart.
It is the manner of raising that I now find myself in.
One day, my middle
child, suddenly refused to go to school.
I have tried everything I could to convince him to go back to school but
to no avail. I thought I would die because of his decision. I think any parent would feel the same. I was so afraid of his fate, of his future. But what can I do if he himself refuses to
listen, to cooperate? In the end, I
surrendered. I just carried day after
day the pain of seeing him doing nothing and doing what he is not supposed to
do.
One day, I accidentally discovered the answer to my old long question. While I was looking for something in the
study table in the living area, a mini notebook caught my attention. I opened it and was surprised to know that it
belonged to my second son. The notebook
appeared to be his diary. I am certain
that it is unethical to look at someone’s personal belonging such as a diary, but my curiosity overpowered my sense of
propriety. While browsing the pages,
questions filled my mind. Could this
diary answers my questions about my son’s behavior? Could this reveal why he hates
schooling? The first pages cronicles my
son’s activities and feelings for the assigned date. I kept on reading until I went to a page that
says it all. Not that it answered all my
questions but its content is enough to pacify a father’s worries and
concerns. The entry to that page goes
this way,” Today, my brother, father
and me did the laundry. We were happy
doing it. By the way, I no longer have a
mother. But I am not lonely because our
father loves us very much.” Before I knew it, tears are already welling in my
eyes. Not that I have found all the
answers. But, finding the only answer that matters.
Sooner, I found myself back to the times when I responded with
violence to my son’s decision not to pursue his schooling anymore. I remembered how hard I kicked his back to
push him away from home. Another
incedent was when I threw him a bucket of water until his room was all soaking wet. I realized how bad a father I was to my children.
That instead of loving them by showing them understanding, I oftentimes
responded with irritation and anger. I
realized that my show of affection to them does not justify my violent
tendencies in dealing with their shortcomings.
I couldn’t believe that my son, would write that thing. I used to think that they won’t feel much
loved because they grew up without the presence and guidance of a mother. In fact, I was the only one they have.
I realized that in spite of my occasional vehement and unfatherly
attitude towards them, they still saw and felt the efforts I exerted in raising them
and loving them as my children.
Now, I am no longer afraid of their future. I resolved to love them no matter what they
become someday. I have learned also to
embrace myself, including my weaknesses and brokenness. I surrender myself now
to the loving arms of God and just enjoy His unconditional love.
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